The Ceremony of Innocence
by The Blue Raven
Summary: Giles returns to Sunnydale to help the Scooby Gang prevent yet another impending apocalypse. The task at hand forces everyone to think about their relationships with the others and about their roles in life.
1. News From the HomeFront

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The Ceremony of Innocence 

By: Blue

Summary: Giles returns to Sunnydale to help the Scooby Gang prevent yet another impending apocalypse. The task at hand forces everyone to think about their relationships with the others and about their roles in life.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I own nothing and turn no profit.

Timeline: Somewhere in season 7

Author's Note: This is a work in progress, and the more I work on it, the more it turns into a character study as opposed to a plot-driven piece. I think that's fitting for a Buffy fic, though, in keeping with the series. While Sunnydale and an impending apocalypse are the backdrop, the story itself is about people and relationships (not necessarily romantic). I'm only including this A/N so you know what you're getting into since not everyone likes character-based stories.

Yet Another Author's Note: The title is a line from a poem which will be incorporated in later in the fic…

Feedback: Pretty please! Feed me, feed me!!! Should I continue?

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Chapter 1 -- News From the Home-Front

Giles clicked on his computer with the same caution he always displayed around the incomprehensible device. He was quite certain that the ruddy hated him in the extreme, in spite of Willow's repeated reassurances that computers were usually not capable of independent thought. It was her amendment of 'usually' that had always gotten him. Whatever may have been true of _most_ computers, his hated him. It was less than a year old and he had already been forced to bring it into the shop three times. 

Though, in the computer's defense, the third time had been entirely his fault. Who would have guessed that candle-wax could cause so many problems with a computer's inner workings? The technician at the shop had looked at him as if he had completely lost it when he explained that he had been casting a combination exorcism and blessing on the damned thing when the melted wax had somehow managed to get through the casing and onto the motherboard. His own fault for not doing it while Willow had still been there. No doubt she could have handled not only the exorcism but also the resultant mess.

Oh, well, at least now he had access to the Council's online database of demonic trends. And email, of course. Willow had helped him set up an account and had written down detailed instructions as to how to use the different features. It even _usually_ worked. Although he had somehow managed to find his way onto several mailing lists for demonic porn and pre-approved credit cards accepted in finer hell-dimensions everywhere. Also pills to increase the size of his horns by two inches guaranteed. The things you could find on the World Wide Web…

Chuckling to himself and shaking his head, he sat down at the computer and logged on to the Internet. Willow had shown him a spell to increase the speed of his dial-up modem to slightly better than that of a digital connection, and he used it now. The screen flickered in protest for a moment before settling down, and he logged on to his email account. 

Mostly junk, as per usual. Another credit card offer. Deleted. Underage demonesses. Deleted with a disgusted oath. Online interactive voodoo dolls, including an effigy of the Slayer. Deleted with a laugh and a mental note to mention it to Buffy next time they spoke on the phone. It would amuse her, he was sure. An online circular from Stygia's most popular weapon's smith. He saved that one for later perusal. After all, Buffy and Willow both had birthdays coming up.

  
Ah, a note from Willow. Smiling, he opened the email and read over it. 

Willow was doing quite well, taking his teachings and those of the Coven to heart and moderating her use of magic as much as possible. It was still, occasionally necessary, of course, to help Buffy and the others, but she was always very carefully. Classes were going well and she hoped to be able to graduate only a semester or so behind-time, and with honors.

Dawn was making friends and scoring top marks at school, staying out of trouble and occasionally accompanying Buffy on patrol. She seemed to be picking up a remarkable amount of what Buffy had to teach her. 

Anya had renounced her position as a vengeance demon once again and this time actually seemed to mean it. She had even contracted Xander's firm to repair the damage to the Magic Box, or possibly just tear down and rebuild the store. Anya was hoping to reopen by this time next year. Willow expressed a great deal of sympathy and empathy for Anya. After all, Willow knew from experience exactly what she was going through.

Xander was doing well at work, Giles saw, and had, by some fluke, turned into the responsible adult in the group. He was not dating, although he had several friends from work and was spending some time socially with Anya. Willow was hopeful that they might reconcile completely eventually.

Spike was… "Insane in the basement?" he whispered, shaking his head and looking even more befuddled than he felt. 

Bemused he read on. Ah, another vampire with a soul. The damned things seemed to flock to poor Buffy, as though her life were not complex enough already. He seemed _mostly_ over the insanity now, although he did still have his moments. Willow was not sure yet whether his soul was really agreeing with him, she wrote, but she had high hopes for him. 

Giles could tell that she was empathizing with Spike's plight as well as Anya's. It would take Willow a long time to completely overcome last year's badness. It would happen, but it would take time. In the meantime, she would have to work through a lot of pain and guilt and, no matter how much good she did, it would be a long time before it seemed to even _approach_ being enough. Giles understood. He had been there himself.

He smiled as he read on. Willow had saved the news she knew would interest him most for last. Buffy. 

Buffy Summers, for whom Giles had once threaten to thrash a principal in order to keep her from getting expelled. Buffy Summers, who had burnt down not one but _two_ high-schools during her teenage years. Buffy Summers, who had been labeled as everything from a 'loner' and a 'troublemaker' to 'antisocial' and a 'bad influence'. Buffy Summers… Sunnydale High's most well-liked Guidance Counselor, trusted and respected by students and faculty alike. 

  
Giles smiled and shook his head. Although Buffy might have been surprised to hear it, Giles was not in the least surprised to hear that Buffy was distinguishing herself in the role of Guidance Counselor. She was a damned fine Slayer, certainly, but he had known that there was more to her than that the first time he had watched her draw a young and incredibly shy Willow out of her shell. She had not been that popular in high-school, certainly, but she had still managed to touch a lot of lives in a very positive way, quite aside from _saving_ many of those lives. Willow, Xander, Cordelia, Anya, Giles himself…

He could not help but feel a flush of paternal pride when he thought about all the people Buffy had affected simply by being herself. _That_, more than any feat she had performed as Slayer, moved him. It was difficult to articulate exactly _why_, but he felt every bit as proud of 'Buffy the Guidance Counselor' as he did of 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer'. After all, anyone could take a sharp stick and jab it into a member of the walking undead. It took someone with real spirit to help struggling youngsters. And, although Buffy might have _claimed_ that she did it for the money, he knew better and he knew that she did as well.

His own reply to Willow's note was longer than her original message, but held news of much less consequence. The new horse he was considering buying. How Willow's favorite mare was due to foal any day now. How his flower-garden had sprouted a number of unusual flowers overnight, more suited to Costa Rica than England and would Willow know anything about that? The weather had been unseasonably sunny, actually rather reminiscent of California this time of year, and damn he missed it and all of them so very much…

Shaking his head, he erased that last bit and rephrased the comments on the weather in a more cheerful tone. It took him three tries to remove the last trace of homesickness from that paragraph, which in itself gave him pause. Homesickness? Except that he _was_ home. This estate had been in his family for generations, so why did he feel so damned…

"Homesick," he sighed, shaking his head. 

He added the usual messages of affection to everyone: Give Dawn and Buffy each a hug for me. Tell the others I love and miss them. It was good to hear from you again, and I'm pleased that you're doing so well…

"So why in the bloody hell do I feel so damned homesick?" he sighed as he typed a cheerful closing paragraph without particular conviction.

And the answer to that was so simple that even, as close as he was to the problem, he could not miss it. Sunnydale _was_ home. Willow, Buffy, Dawn, even Xander and Anya, were his family. He missed them all so dreadfully, more even than his deceased parents. As much as he enjoyed hearing from them, he hated it, too, because it _hurt_. Every time he heard of some defeat or obstacle that one or the other of them had suffered, he found himself wishing he could be there to comfort them. Every time he heard about some new victory, he wished he could be there to celebrate with them. 

He kept telling himself that he was doing the right thing, stepping into the shadows so 'his children' could finally grow into the independent adults that they were meant to be. But even independent adults needed friends and confidants, another part of his mind insisted. Which begged the question of whether he wanted to go back for them or for himself. That ambiguity was the only thing that had kept him from booking a one-way ticket to Sunnydale international airport. And he had wanted to, had more than once been ready to do just that. And he had held himself back because no 'child' that age wants their 'father' hovering about sticking his spectacle-clad nose into their business.

Of them all, he thought that only Willow was really able to view him as more than just another father-figure. Which was rather ironic because, of them all, Willow was the one he felt most paternal towards, especially recently. Aloud and in the presence of others, he lied shamelessly on that particular point, claiming that Buffy was most like a daughter to him, Willow most an equal and a friend. He had told Willow that once after he had brought her back to England. She had looked him in the eyes, had seemed to look right _through_ him and had said "sure, Giles" in a tone that clearly said "you're lying and we both know it".

He hit the 'send' button, grateful that Willow was easier to lie to via email than face-to-face. She knew him too well. He had shown her too much of himself after Buffy had died the second time and even more after he had brought her back to England. It had been important to him that she understand that she was not the only one who had let the power take control of them instead of taking control of the power. He had told her everything, things that not even Buffy or the priestess to whom he made periodic confessions knew about. 

He had told her things that he had not even acknowledged to himself in better than twenty years. And Willow had told him everything in return. More times than either of them could count, she had sat in his living room, clutching a cup filled with a small amount of tea and a much larger amount of brandy in her shaking hands, and had just talked. Sometimes she talked about her anger and grief over having Tara taken from her. 

Mostly, though, she just talked about Tara. Tara's shy smile. How that smile had made her eyes sparkle with that inner light that Tara had not even known that she possessed. Tara's gentle, cool hands. Hands as good at cooking and sewing and gardening as they were at casting spells. The magic that Willow claimed was even more a part of Tara than it was of Willow herself. Willow's magic came from without, Tara's from within. Tara's magic was a thousand times more subtle, Willow had explained, and infinitely more beautiful. She could have caused so much harm with her magic, but she never thought to do anything with it but fight the good fight.

It had not taken long for Willow to feel comfortable enough talking to Giles about Tara for her to open up completely. Tears in her eyes and a smile on her face, she had told him about their first time, about how Willow had been nervous but Tara had been _more_ nervous, and yet it had been Tara reassuring Willow instead of the other way around. 

There had been bad times, too, of course, as there were bound to be in _any_ relationship, but Willow had hardly been able to remember these, and so she had dwelled on the good times. Giles had just listened because it had seemed what Willow needed then. Tara had been a charming young girl, and they had loved each other dearly. He could hardly begin to imagine what her murder must have done to Willow. 

He remembered Willow's surprise at discovering that he was not angry, that he understood. That was when he had begun telling her about his own past, and when Willow had begun to feel safe enough emotionally to tell Giles everything about Tara. It took her months, though, to tell him what had been at the crux of her breakdown. One night, months after Willow had started telling Giles about Tara and how lost she felt without her, Willow told him about the shooting itself. He had, of course, known the details, but not from Willow's perspective. He had been stunned when Willow had quietly concluded "it should have been me standing by that window".

He had done the only thing he could do after that. He had held Willow in his arms as she sobbed herself to sleep. Then he had picked her up, carried her to her room, and put her to bed, all without waking her. He had sat with her all night, mostly thinking about Jenny's murder, but also about Buffy's loss of Angel and Willow's of Tara. At the time, he had reflected that the Fates seemed to have something against happily-ever-afters. It had been the first time he had held Willow as she had cried herself to sleep, but it would not be the last. Not by a long-shot.

When Tara had been murdered, Giles had felt Willow's soul screaming in agony. Even if the Coven had not asked him to go to her, he would have, just to comfort the bereft young woman. She had been in Sunnydale, he in England, and he had _felt_ her sense of loss and emptiness. He, the Coven, and probably every Sensitive in between had felt her anguish. And then her anger. 

More than anything, he had wanted to deny that one of 'his kids' could be capable of so much anger. Not one of them. That kind of anger belonged to men like 'Ripper' and Ethan Rayne. Old, embittered, used-up old sorcerers who had gone on one too many trips to the brink. To feel such things from _Willow_, though… it had been horrible. To vicariously experience her sanity unraveling like that had been almost too much to bear. 

Then the Coven had started talking about 'stopping' her, and they had meant banishing her to a Plane where she could not harm Earth. A meeting had been conveyed within a few hours of Tara's murder. Willow was beyond powerful. She was power itself. Not everyone in the group had been able to feel the things that Giles and a handful of the others felt from Willow, but they could all smell impending doom, thick in the air like the smell of burning leaves in the fall, presaging the coming of winter.

Meetings of the Coven were generally very orderly affairs. The members were all incredibly powerful, but not particularly vain or prideful. Each member paid the others all due respect. Although all meetings were conducted with a Speaking-Staff, there were seldom interruptions, except for the occasionally words of agreement. The meetings, as a result, tended to be quite, orderly affairs where a great deal was discussed and decided, usually over tea and biscuits. 

This meeting, though, had been different. The Speaking-Staff had been invoked, but no one paid it the slightest attention, and it was soon forgotten altogether. Everyone was scared, shouting to be heard, generally ignoring everyone else whether they agreed with them or not. Arguments broke out that probably would have ended in fist-fights for any other group. There had been a horrifying split-second where Giles had been worried that Phoenix was about to turn Skye into something nasty when Skye contended that killing Willow was probably the only way to stop her.

That moment had passed quickly, Phoenix scoffing dismissively and quietly asking Skye if _she_ was ready to incur the karmic backlash of such an act. The girl was mad, did not know what she was doing, Phoenix pointed out. Skye had conceded this, but had pointed out that banishing her to another dimension was probably a _worse_ punishment than death and what if Willow's power only grew while she was 'away'. Might she not be angry and seek retaliation against not only the Coven but against humankind in general?

This had caused another uproarious outburst and the meeting had once more deteriorated to chaos. Giles had tried to make himself heard over the shouting, urging calm and careful deliberation, but no one had been able to make out a single word he was saying. The noise had stopped as abruptly as it had started, every head turning to the sound of the Speaking-Staff being forcefully struck against a ritual gong. Cassandra, a seer who had long since grown tired of life and visions, stood by the gong, the Speaking-Staff still in her left hand, which was now held high over her head. A few calm words regarding the sanctity of the Staff and the camaraderie and solidarity which were a part of being a member of the Coven were sufficient to recall everyone in the room to themselves.

Giles had requested the Staff then, but Cassandra had ignored him. She quietly volunteered to be the one to go. Giles had overruled her and all the rest. Willow was one of his kids. She was his responsibility. He had been the one to introduce her to magic as anything other than sleight of hand. He would go. He would stop her or die trying. The others had been startled, most actually horrified. They had not wanted him to go, afraid that he was too close to the situation, afraid that he would get himself killed even if the magic they lent him did not consume him.

And Cassandra, who had offered to go in the first place, had again claimed possession of the Staff. He had expected argument, but had gotten an endorsement from her instead. Cassandra quietly avowed her belief that Giles had a great role to play in all of this, but not the role they all thought. It was his place to go, she explained mildly. He would be able to do what none of the others could. She had not yet been privileged to see exactly _what_, but she felt it was so. The others had acquiesced. None of them really _liked_ it, but that did not change facts. Cassandra _knew_ things. If she said that Giles had some great role to play in this, that only he could succeed in stopping Willow from triggering an apocalypse, then it was so.

It had hurt so badly when the others had channeled almost all of their own power into him. Humans were fragile vessels, and magic a volatile cargo. He had walked into it knowing that this process alone might kill him. For Willow, he had been willing to chance it. He had gone to Sunnydale confident that he could bring her back from the darkness into the light, and equally confident that he would die a short time later. As it had turned out, neither had been true. Xander had been the one to bring her back and the magic had _not_ killed him.

He had puzzled over these facts for the two days he spent in the hospital after his fight with Willow, until he had received a call from Cassandra informing him simply that it was time for him to play his part. He had understood, then, perhaps as a result of the magic and abilities that he had gained from Cassandra herself. Although he gave the others their powers back just as soon as it was clear that Willow was no longer a threat, he had retained some measure of _all_ of it. It continued to crop up unexpectedly from time to time, even a year after the fact. The magic had not burnt him out from the inside. It had strengthened him beyond words.

Whether the understanding came from Cassandra's power to see into the future or his own knowledge and understanding of Willow, he had known exactly what needed to happen. Willow had been nearly catatonic, finally allowing herself to mourn for Tara, for her victims, for the world she had nearly destroyed. Giles had quietly announced that he was taking her back to England. Buffy and Xander had protested, saying that she needed to be with her friends right now. Refusing to entertain their arguments, Giles had assured them that he would care for her and not allow any harm to befall her. 

Willow had been sure that the Coven was going to imprison or execute her, but she had quietly told the others that it would be okay, that she would go with Giles and everything would be just fine. They had left that day. Willow had not spoken a word after that for almost a week.

Giles shook his head, considering. Willow had suffered so much, would _continue_ to suffer. Magic for her was not like magic for him or any other member of the Coven. It was not just some tool or inborn ability, not something you could use and then forget about until you needed it again. For Willow, casting a spell was like grabbing a tiger by the tail. No matter how good, how skilled, how _careful_ you were, it was always going to be dangerous.

Unlike Giles and the others, though, it was not something she could just ignore, either, not something she would_ ever_ be able to ignore. So Willow would continue to struggle with it, probably for the rest of her life. Sighing and shaking his head, he turned off the computer. The phone rang immediately.

"Hello?" he inquired, turning on the speaker-phone and settling onto the couch with a new volume on demons that he had ordered.

"What are you doing?" a low voice inquired mildly.

"Reading, Cassandra. Which you should know," he pointed it.

"Allow me to clarify, Ripper," Cassandra said, her voice strained. 

Giles frowned, not only at her use of the nickname 'Ripper', but also at her tone of voice. She had just come out a vision. He would have recognized that quiet, shaky, not-quite-there tone anywhere. If he had been face to face with her, he knew that her eyes would have been fixed and glassy, her face set into an expression that would have unsettled most people. It was an expression that would not have been out of place 2,000 years ago on a priestess in some temple to Apollo, communing with her gods and the ghosts of the underworld. Telling the future.

"What are you doing _in England_?" Cassandra continued, her voice flat and expressionless. "When you are _needed_ in Sunnydale…"

Giles blinked. She was not just out of a trance. She was still in one. "_Am_ I needed in Sunnydale?" he inquired, trying to get more information from her. That was never an easy task. Cassandra was notoriously inexact. She knew almost everything, but she seldom spoke freely about any of it. 

"You are."

  
"Why?"

"The Beast slouches towards Bethlehem." 

Giles frowned. Biblical references? That could _not_ be a good sign. "Tell me more."

"The blood-dimmed tide is soon to be loosed."

Giles sighed and took off his glasses, absently cleaning them. "How long do I have?"

"Not long at all. Together, the father and his girls may yet overcome, but time grows short."

"Cassandra, I need specifics, please," Giles told her, picking up his phone-book and looking up the number to the airport. 

"Answer unclear. Try again later."

He rolled his eyes. "Welcome back, Cassandra."

"What'd I say?"

"Oh, nothing intelligible," he assured her wryly.

"If I remember more, I'll call you."

Giles nodded. "Thanks. I'll be in--"

"Sunnydale. Stay safe, my friend."

"You, too, Cassandra," he told her, sighing and hanging up. Shaking his head, he picked up the phone again and dialed the airport.


	2. the Standing Stones

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Chapter 2 -- the Standing Stones

The Coven had not convened a full meeting since shortly after Giles had brought Willow back to England. They tended to be insular by nature and, while one or two or even a whole handful of them could frequently be found together socially, these sort of meetings were rare. When they _did_ gather, it was more often to celebrate the Sabats and Esbats than to make any sort of decisions or plans. Everyone was inclined to agree that they had met far too often for that purpose in the past year, but there was nothing for it. When any one member called for a council, then all members had to come if they possibly could, physically or astrally. It was the way it had always been.

Giles had been packing when he had gotten the phone-call from Cassandra. "Your plane doesn't leave for several hours yet, Rupert. That should give you plenty of time to put in an appearance at the Standing Stones, hmm?" 

He would rather _not_ have gone, but she was right that there was more than enough time. Besides which, a council had been called for. He could not have avoided it. Even if he had been out of the country, he would have been expected to put in an astral appearance. So he had hastily finished packing and called for a taxi.

The Standing Stones were not what the name implied. It was not one of the stone circles scattered all about Great Britain, but rather a dwelling. It was, ostensibly, a summer home for Cuchulain and Tinne, the Coven's High Priest and Priestess. It resembled nothing so much as a medieval castle, which was hardly surprising since that was exactly what it had started out as, built on what was one of the holiest sites on Britain, although only members of the Coven knew _that_. The site had _once_ been a home to a stone circle, and the name had stuck in spite of the fact that no trace remained. 

It had been added to and improved over the years, but it did not _seem_ to have changed in the slightest. At least, not from the outside. The inside was large out of all proportion to the outside dimensions. It had plumbing and electricity and Internet access, guest rooms, several large, ornate dining halls, three kitchens, meeting halls, enough spare rooms that every member of the Coven could have lived there without things getting cramped, a massive library that made the New York Public Library seem downright tiny by comparison. No modern amenity or convenience was lacking, and it was well-staffed as well with literally dozens of maids and butlers. Several members of the Coven lived there full time.

The trip to the Standing Stones was spent by Giles in brooding silence. Cassandra had obviously made some sense or other out of the vision that had prompted him to book the first flight to the States. That she felt it important enough to call for a council was ominous beyond words. The closer the cab got to the Standing Stones, the more his sinking feeling grew. It was downright oppressive by the time the massive stone structure came into sight. 

A butler paid the cab-fare and carried his bags inside, promising that there would be a car waiting to take him to the airport when the meeting was over. Of course, he had no idea what the meeting was _about_, only that there was to be one. No one who worked at the Standing Stones asked too many questions or displayed too much curiosity. It was an important trait, the main one to get them hired in the first place, and they were well-paid for their disinterest. 

As he approached the front entrance, he noticed a young girl, no more than ten, sitting on the ground cradling something in her arms. As he drew closer, he saw that it was a fox, its fur matted with blood. It should have been alarmed to find itself in a strange human's arms, but it seemed quite at-ease. He smiled when a slight breeze carried the sound of the girl's singing to his ears.

"Make a new friend, did you, Morgaine?" he asked gently, smiling.

"He was hurt. I fixed him." She smiled proudly up at him.

"Let's have a look, shall we?" he offered, kneeling next to her and gingerly reaching for the fox. 

It glared at him, but made no move to escape or attack as he gently touched its side. Morgaine had that effect on even the wildest of wild animals. The healing itself, he noted, was imperfect. There was still some scar-tissue present, but no open wounds or other signs to indicate that the creature had recently come close to bleeding to death. Morgaine was growing quite skilled, not that he would have expected less from Skye's daughter. Healing ran in that family the way blue eyes or freckles ran in some, and Morgaine showed more promise than any member of her family had in generations.

She smiled, pleased by his approving expression. "You're one of the first to arrive," she told him absently, hugging the fox to her chest. "Do you think mum will let me keep her?"

"I think that's something you're going to have to ask _her_," Giles replied with a smile. "She's a wild animal, though, Morgaine. Surely she would be happier in the wild?" he suggested gently.

Morgaine's smile faded slightly, but she nodded. Gently kissing the fox on the tip of its nose, she set it down and watched as it slowly wandered off towards a large wooded area nearby. She watched it go with a philosophic shrug, wiping her hands on her jeans and picking up the book she had abandoned in favor of the wounded animal.

"_Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_?" Giles laughed when he saw the cover.

She shrugged. "It's a good book, Mister Giles. Not very accurate, but still good."

Giles smiled faintly. "I see. So long as it's _good_. Who's your favorite character, hmm?"

"Hermione Granger. Her parents were muggles, but she's still pretty cool."

Giles smiled and nodded, pretending he knew what a 'muggle' was. "I'm sure she's quite… cool. What powers does she have?"

"Brain-power, mostly." Morgaine shrugged. "She studies a lot and does her best. She always scores top marks."

"Well, good on her." Giles smiled and nodded. 

Morgaine started to speak again, but the alarm on her watch went off. "Bugger," she muttered.

"Morgaine!" Giles gasped. "Language, please…"

She shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, Mister Giles. Got to go do my homework now." She scowled and pulled herself to her feet. 

  
"Pretend you're Hermione," he suggested, smiling. 

"I know. I like doing my school-work, but the book was just getting to an interesting part." She shrugged. "Oh, well. Fluffy can wait, but _I_ have an algebra test tomorrow." Grabbing her book, she skipped off, humming to herself.

"Little young for algebra, isn't she?" Giles asked Tinne as she emerged from the Standing Stones to greet him.

"She's a bright girl. Skye has her in some sort of accelerated program." Tinne shrugged. "I remember when she couldn't even _pronounce_ algebra."

Giles smiled and nodded, adding wryly, "Hell, I remember when her _mother_ was too young to pronounce algebra properly."

Tinne nodded, smiling. "We're getting old, old friend… Cassandra would like a word with you before the meeting. She's in the library."

Giles nodded. "Thanks, Tinne. I'll see you at the meeting." He started into the castle.

"Non-magical folk," Tinne called after him.

"Hmm?"

"Muggles, Rupert. It refers to non-magical folk."

He smiled and nodded. Tinne was a mind-reader and, while she never intruded unless the need was dire, it was nearly impossible for her to tune out surface thoughts. "Thanks. And, um… _Fluffy_?"

"Twelve-foot tall dog with three heads."

Giles blinked. "I see."

Tinne grinned. "See you at the meeting. Should I have a late lunch sent to you in the library?"

"Oh, I'd be grateful. I'm afraid, in my rush, I quite forgot to eat lunch _or_ breakfast."

"Yes, well, the last thing we need is you passing out over the Atlantic ocean. I'll have a tray sent."

Giles smiled and nodded gratefully. "Thank you. I'll see you in council."

***

The library was enormous and incredibly well-stocked. Three levels high, every wall was dominated by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. No windows, only a handful of doors, and ladders everywhere. A large fireplace was set into the east wall, surrounded by a cluster of chairs and couches. The lower level contained other chairs, couches, and several tables, distributed more or less at random. Giles had always found the room incredibly cozy.

He spotted Cassandra easily, standing in front of the roaring fire with a book in her hands.

"The best lack all convictions, while the worst are full of passionate intensity," she announced as she became aware of his presence. She turned and smiled at him, snapping the book she was holding shut.

"I'm sorry. Is that meant to be somehow significant?" he inquired with a sigh. 

Normally it did not bother him when Cassandra was cryptic. Today, it was just short of infuriating, perhaps because Sunnydale was somehow involved. Which, of course, meant that Buffy was somehow involved. He wanted _answers._

"Yeats, Rupert. He's a poet."

"I _know_ who Yeats is, Cassandra. I did go to University…"

"More accurately, you were enrolled but did not attend," she corrected.

"Didn't keep me from picking up more than one degree," he pointed out in a tight voice.

He was annoyed with her for pointing it out. She was right, of course, but that was quite beside the point. In the early days, when he had been young, angry, and rebellious, he had _not_ gone to many classes. But _later_ he had applied himself with conviction, more than managing to make up for lost time. Still, this was the second time today that she had chosen to bring up that particular period of his past. _Why?_

When Cassandra did not respond, he sighed and continued. "What does Yeats have to do with… anything?"

"The blood-dimmed tide. The Beast that slouches towards Bethlehem, its hour come 'round at last. I thought those turns of phrase sounded familiar…" She opened the book again and handed it to him. "Poem's called 'The Second Coming'."

Giles slipped on his glasses and read. Once he began the poem, it was almost instantly familiar to him.

__

Turning and turning in the widening gyre 

The falcon cannot hear the falconer; 

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; 

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, 

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere 

The ceremony of innocence is drowned; 

The best lack all convictions, while the worst 

Are full of passionate intensity. 

Surely some revelation is at hand; 

Surely the Second Coming is at hand. 

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out 

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi 

Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert 

A shape with lion body and the head of a man, 

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, 

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it 

Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. 

The darkness drops again; but now I know 

That twenty centuries of stony sleep 

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, 

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, 

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? 

Giles closed the book and looked up at her. "The Second Coming, hmm?" He shook his head. "Cassandra, you aren't Christian," he pointed out. "I would think that makes it rather difficult to subscribe to a belief in the Second Coming of Christ."

"I don't see any mention of _any_ such person in that poem, Ripper. What I see is two-_thousand_ years of stony sleep about to end. Did you know there was an earthquake in Sunnydale this morning?"

He blinked and shook his head. "No. I didn't."

"There was." She shrugged. "Rock-a-bye, baby, in the tree top. When the bough shakes, the cradle will rock. When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall, and down will come baby, cradle and all."

Giles blinked. "Has anyone ever told you that you are patently insane?"

Cassandra nodded easily. "Quite frequently, as a matter of fact. All seers are insane. It's how it _works_. You honestly think a person can be privy to things I'm privy to and _avoid_ getting driven insane by them? You honestly think that any sane person _ever_ ends up on the receiving end of a vision?"

She had a point, he supposed, and she had never been wrong in the past, even if she _was_ quite mad. "You're sitting here telling me that the Second Coming is at hand?"

"No. I'm, um… _standing_ here telling you."

"Right." Giles blinked and nodded cautiously. "Have I mentioned that you aren't Christian and therefore not really entitled to _believe _in the Second Coming of Christ?"

She squeezed her eyes shut in frustration for a moment. "Not _his_ Second Coming," she informed him through clenched teeth.

"Whose, then?"

She shook her head. "The earth grows restless. An ancient evil is awakening in Sunnydale."

"There is _always_ an ancient evil awakening in Sunnydale, Cassandra," he pointed out. "What makes this one special?"

"No bloody clue." She shook her head in frustration. "But that does not change that it _is_ special and that you are quite badly needed to help combat it."

Giles sighed. "I bought the plane ticket already."

"I know."

He smiled faintly and nodded. "Of _course_ you do."

She walked over to a nearby table, piled high with volumes of poetry that she had been searching earlier. Picking up a decanter of brandy, she waggled it in his direction. "Offer you a drink before the meeting starts?"

"A drink would be nice. Some insight would be better."

"Perhaps both are yet attainable," she suggested, handing him a glass and returning to the fireplace. 

"Tell me what you know?" he requested, joining her. "What have you seen?"

"Irises in a patch of roses… I don't know why or _what_ that's meant to signify…"

"There were irises in my rose-garden this morning. Indigenous to Costa Rica. I had… assumed that Willow had something to do with it. We had a… she used to like to bring exotic flowers to us."

"They are _not_ her doing." Cassandra shook her head. "Tea leaves. Ask her about the tea leaves."

"What about them? I don't understand."

"Nor do I. Nor… nor… _can_ I." She turned to face him and touched two fingers to his chest, over his heart. "The battle-ground is… this… this _conflict_ you walk into… different, so different. Not like anything you've faced before, with her or without her. I… it's not mine to… to know or to… _say_, but…" She closed her eyes and continued in a harsh voice and uneven. "Always before, you have drawn strength from one another, but… This may be different. You may be forced to fight some of the coming battles alone. You, her, Willow…" She shook her head abruptly. "I'm sorry, Rupert. I can't say more."

He nodded his understanding. She had struggled to say that much and even if it made no sense, he was grateful to her for it. "Here." He offered her the glass in his hand. "You look like you could use this more."

She nodded gratefully and drained it in a single gulp. "Come on. The others have all arrived. It will not be a long council."

He nodded and followed her to the meeting hall. 

***

"And ancient evil is awakening in Sunnydale," Cassandra told the others simply when silence had fallen.

"_Another_ one?" Phoenix sighed and, for all the sarcasm in her tone, there was no denying the concern there.

"It's _always_ Sunnydale," Skye murmured, and no one bothered contradicting her. "They have an Apocalypse a week, just lately. And, for the most part, they still manage just fine all the same. Why should this time be any different?"

"Because this time it _is_." Cassandra shrugged. "More is needed. The Slayer's power is insufficient."

"What about Willow's power?" Cuchulain asked gently. "Combined with that of the Slayer--"

"Insufficient," Cassandra interrupted. "No, she _is_ powerful. She is Power _itself_, but that is not enough."

"Then what hope have we in all of this?" Tinne inquired in a low voice. She glanced thoughtfully at Cassandra for a moment before turning her gaze to Giles. "You go?"

He nodded. "Yes, Tinne. My plane leaves in a few hours."

"You… _are_ powerful, Rupert," Tinne conceded, "but not so powerful as Willow. There is no real reason to suspect that you will succeed where she fails."

Giles nodded. "I know. But… these are my friends, people I care about. I can't just leave them to some unknowable evil."

"It's a huge risk," Skye pointed out.

"And unwise besides," Phoenix agreed.

Cassandra's whisper was clearly heard throughout the room. "Power takes many forms." 

Tinne considered for a moment, then nodded. "It does indeed, and what one man is strong in another shall be weak in." She smiled at Giles. "You have power, more than you know. Something tells me that it will stand you in good stead in the coming days."

Cuchulain nodded. "She's right. There are more fields of battle than the battlefield and sometimes kind words may serve where the blade or the spell does not." He nodded again, his expression thoughtful. "Yes, I think you may yet succeed where Willow and your Slayer alone _could_ not."

Giles smiled anxiously, hoping they were right. Not that it would have mattered. Knowing that Buffy and the others were in danger, that they _needed_ him, he could not have done anything else.

"You will be in our prayers," Tinne assured him. "And if there is any way we may be of service--"

"There is not," Cassandra told her bluntly. "This is his fight, not ours."

Tinne blinked, but nodded. "As you say, Cassandra."

Giles inhaled deeply and rose. "I should be off, then, if I'm to catch my flight."

"Stay safe, friend," Tinne said quietly.

Giles nodded and turned to leave, smiling and nodding to each of the well-wishes he received as he made his way from the room. He was surprised when Coll, a quiet young man who had been initiated into the Coven only a few weeks before Tara's death, followed him from the room.

"Hello, Coll." Giles smiled curiously at him.

"Mister Giles."

"Rupert, hmm? We're all friends here."

"Yeah." He nodded a little uneasily. "Um, look, Rupert… Sunnydale, right now… not a safe place."

Giles nodded. "Sunnydale has _never_ been a safe place, Coll. I'm quite used to that."

He nodded again. "Yeah. Well… things are stirring there."

"So Cassandra informs me."

"I can feel the land screaming. Something's poisoning it. Things are changing, like a metamorphosis. Nothing pretty like a butterfly is going to be popping out this time, though. It's going to be ugly and _incredibly _hungry and it's going to have _teeth_."

Giles nodded slowly. Willow had made a comment shortly before her departure about the Hell-mouth having teeth. Coll would know, too. The young man had a level of sympathy for the earth that was greater than any Giles had ever seen.

"Life from death," Cassandra agreed, joining them in the hall and gently resting her hand on Coll's shoulder. "Born and baptized in blood."

"Comforting," Giles remarked, pulling off his glasses and cleaning them even though they were not dirty.

"Mmm… Fight it with what it does not understand, Rupert," Cassandra advised gently. "And your car's here."

"Is it?" he asked.

"Well, it will be by the time you get to the drive," Cassandra assured him with a faint smile, patting his shoulder. "Have a nice flight."

"Easy for you to say," he laughed, shaking his head and starting for the door. 


	3. Another Earthquake

****

Chapter 3 -- Another Earthquake

"Bye, guys!" Willow called cheerfully after Dawn and Buffy as they rushed from the house on their way to school. 

Willow plugged a Clannad CD into the radio and turned up the speakers before she began straightening the kitchen and living room. Singing along in Gaelic, she pulled down a teacup and a tin of loose tea, chamomile mostly with a bit of lavender and rosemary. The soothing blend was one that Giles had hooked her on in England. It was not _just_ that the tea itself was calming, either. Willow had dozens of fond memories of just sitting with Giles, sharing tea and feelings. Sometimes he had been the one to talk and sometimes she had, but it did not matter _who_ did the talking, or even if they were completely silent. Those moments had been islands of calm for both of them in an otherwise chaotic existence. 

Willow had come to hold such moments of peace very dear indeed, and she never passed up an opportunity to make one for herself. As the water boiled, she sat down and closed her eyes, taking several deep breaths and summoning up the most soothing mental images she could. Giles had taught her the simple meditation, along with a score of variants, when the pain over Tara's death and her subsequent actions had simply been too much for her to bear. Willow had discovered since returning to Sunnydale that it was equally well-adapted to clearing one's mind at the beginning of the day.

She tried to keep her mind clear as she always did during these meditations, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Giles. Shaking her head, she took a deep breath and started over without much better results. Instead of Giles, though, it was Cassandra Evans whose image made its way into her awareness this time. Cassandra Evans, her black hair making her pale face seem even _more_ pale, her enormous ice-colored eyes looking at Willow and then _through _her and into the future. 

Willow was almost grateful when the whistling of the kettle interrupted her meditations. It went without saying that, having failed two attempts to center herself, it was going to be a pretty chaotic day. She was not looking forward to it in the least. She poured hot water over the tea and left it to steep for a few minutes, walking upstairs to her room and finding a white candle.

"Time to bring out the big guns," she announced to no one in particular, picking it up and carrying it back downstairs. 

Yet another technique Giles had shown her, she reflected, lighting the candle and extinguishing the lights in the living room. She set the candle on the coffee-table and quickly retrieved her tea. Placing the cup on the edge of the table, she sat down on the floor, crossing her legs. She moved the candle on the table until it was less than six inches from her nose, inhaling deeply, and focusing on the flame. 

On a beginner's level, the object was to keep the flame from flickering which, of course, meant controlling your breathing quite strictly. That accomplished, one could begin to experiment with advanced techniques, changing the color or shape of the flame for instance, or making it move in certain ways. Giles had spent hours with her over these sorts of exercises in self-control. He had been good at them himself, of course, owing to years of practice and could produce blue or green flame without any effort at all, and could make the flame behave in ways that a flame had absolutely no business behaving in.

Willow stared thoughtfully at the flame, her hands resting lightly on her knees, and made it dance in time with the music that was still playing on the radio. This particular track was slow and airy, perfect for this sort of meditation, and the flame seemed almost to enjoy dancing along. Willow smiled as the flame flattened and began spiraling upwards like a length of ribbon being twirled through the air. Deciding that orange was boring, she turned it black instead, nodding to herself and picking up her teacup. 

She sipped at her tea as she watched the flame dance, pleased that she was starting to be able to unwind. She would be able to try the meditations again soon with more success, she knew. As a faster, more upbeat track came on, she put the teacup down on the edge of the coffee-table and levitated the flame a few inches off of the wick of the candle. Smiling to herself, she altered its shape until it took on the outline of a ballet dancer.

"Now all you need is something to dance to," Willow said quietly to the dancer-shaped flame. 

A mental nudge made the CD player select the opening theme from Harry's Game as the next track it played. When the ethereal tones began, Willow set the flame dancing again. It took so much concentration to make the flame maintain its shape that she did not notice that the ground was shaking until the teacup perched on the edge of the table clattered off and into her lap.

"Ow!" she yelped, waving her hand defensively and sending the cup tumbling from her lap to the floor. 

The flame vanished with an audible 'pop' as the teacup hit the floor, upside down. Shaking her head, Willow blew on her burnt hand until the tremor subsided. It was not particularly powerful as earthquakes went: not a single picture had fallen from the wall. In fact, the only damage seemed to be to her hand, and that was minor. Well, that and the stain on the carpet. Fortunately, Willow knew how to get chamomile out of upholstery. Shaking her head, she picked up the cup. And nearly dropped it again as she stared at the little puddle of tea-leaves on the carpet.

"Okay, that's… not good," she muttered to herself. She did not know a _lot_ about reading tea-leaves, just a handful of the basics from Cassandra, but she knew enough to know that the patterns that hers had made on the carpet were just plain bad news. "Great, that's all we need," she whispered, wondering if she should call Buffy immediately or wait until after Buffy had finished work to tell her. 

She looked again, decided that the doom and gloom being foretold by the tea-leaves was not immediately threatening, and decided to wait until after class. She would do some research before she bothered Buffy, she decided, get some facts. Well, she had known that it was not going to be a fun day, she told herself, rising. She ran her scalded hand under cold water for a few moments, then returned to the living room to clean up the mess on the carpet.

***

Since she had a few minutes between Philosophy and Anthropology, Willow stopped by the library to check her email. Lots of junk, a few articles that had been posted to the Anthropology Club's list-serve, and a reply from Giles. Smiling, she quickly opened it, ignoring the urge to magically hasten the process when the computer lagged for a few moments. Her smile widened as she read the message over. It was long and chatty and full of news about Giles himself, the estate, his horses, and various members of the Coven. 

She shook her head at the news that his flower garden was displaying some very unusual behaviors. Clearly, he thought that the new flowers had been her idea of a joke, or just a nice way to say hello. It amused him and he agreed that it was cheaper than calling a florist, but had it not taken a lot of energy? Willow was a bit confused, though. The Costa Rican flora had _not_ been her doing, and she doubted that there were many members of the Coven who could easily have pulled such a trick off. Connected or not, Costa Rica was a long way from rural England. So where had the flowers come from? 

She shrugged that off and printed the message out to read over later. Somehow, receiving email from Giles was like getting a letter from home. She was about to log off when the page refreshed itself and a new message popped up. Her smile wavered slightly as she read the sender's address. The .uk extension on the address set off warning bells in her mind. The only people she knew in the UK were Giles and the Coven, and since it was not from 'Buffys_watcher_2', it had to have been from a member of the Coven.

She glanced around nervously and considered deleting the message. For no good reason she could name, it was making her as nervous as hell. No subject line, either. Typical. She hesitated, reading the address again. 'Brit_Delphian'. Cassandra, of course. Willow was not sure if she should feel relieved or not. Cassandra had always been very nice to her, not as scared as the others, but she also _knew_ things… And those things were seldom nice.

Willow shook off her sense of disquiet and opened the email.

__

You read much poetry, Will? Better brush up on your Yeats. Second Coming, you know the poem? Maybe you should give it a looking over. Give my love to Rupert… 

She blinked in surprise and reread the message. Typical of Cassandra. Short and cryptic. Poetry? She shook her head. The name sounded familiar, but she could not quite place the poem itself. Shaking her head, she opened a new browser and called up a search-engine. Frowning, she looked at the message yet again. 

"Give my love to Giles?" she whispered. 

Was that supposed to mean that he coming back to Sunnydale? It would have been wonderful to have him back. She had missed his support and friendship so much in just the few months since she had gotten home. But… _why_ would he come back? In England, he had explained to her why he had left in the first place, how he felt he was holding Buffy back and it was time for her to stand on her own two feet, but Willow had never entirely bought it. There was more going on than what Giles had been willing to confess, even to himself. It had hovered on the fringes of his consciousness, flanked by the twin sentinels of guilt and fear, every time Buffy's name came up.

He had always loved Buffy like a daughter, he had told Willow, and she had _known_ that he was lying to her _and_ himself, because guilt and fear had closed ranks and that hovering _something_ had retreated more deeply into the shadows of his psyche. She had seen it and felt it and had _known_ that it was not the whole story, not even _most_ of the story. But a person's mind was their own, and whether you could see into it or not, it was impolite to intrude there. So she had looked at him and said 'sure, Giles', knowing it was a lie but respecting her friend enough not to point it out to him. 

There had been a flicker of something in his expression then that had indicated that maybe Giles had known it was a lie after all, and _that_ had surprised Willow more. He was certainly an insightful man, and knew himself better than most people would _ever_ know about themselves. But the impression Willow got was that, whatever he was hiding, he was hiding it from himself most of all. Giles, a man who resolutely faced his own demons on almost every count, was scared of this one. Willow had wondered then, still wondered occasionally. What could there possibly be in his relationship with Buffy to cause that kind of pain? Or _guilt_?

"Willow, you going to sit there daydreaming all afternoon? Or are you going to grace us with your presence?" a cheerful voice asked.

She looked up at Professor Tierney, one of her Anthropology professors, who was walking past with an armload of papers. "Oh, sorry, James," she said, logging off. "Just checking my email." She rose and they started out of the library together.

"Always get that dreamy-eyed about poetry recommendations?" he teased with a good-natured grin.

Willow smiled and shook her head. Had she actually looked _dreamy-eyed_ while thinking about Giles? That was just silly. Well, okay, so maybe occasionally the old high-school crush _did _reassert itself… This time, though, she had just been thoughtful, trying to puzzle out several things at once. Just as well that James had mistaken the look for something else entirely. Would have made for an interesting conversation otherwise.

__

'Hey, Willow. You look worried. What's up?'

'Oh, you know, James. The usual. Cryptic emails from a modern-day priestess to Apollo. Prophecies of doom disguised as poetry recommendations. A friend who's in love with my best friend but refuses to admit it, even to himself. Costa Rican irises sprouting spontaneously in a British rose-garden. Oh and, by the way, you know that earthquake we had this morning? Well, it broke my teacup, and the way the tea leaves fell as a result tells me that all hell is about to break lose. Literally. Like I said, the usual. So, is there a quiz today?'

She smiled and shook her head. "It was the email _before_ that. Friend in England I haven't seen in awhile."

James nodded. "Ah. You have many friends in England?"

"A few." She shrugged uncomfortably. "I… spent a few months over there kind of recently."

"Ah, cool. I did an excavation there once. Nice country. Except for all the rain…"

Willow laughed and nodded. "It does rain a lot, yeah."

"So, who in England _does_ Miss Rosenburg get all dreamy-eyed over? She must be something else."

Willow chuckled softly. "He, actually," she corrected, shaking her head. "It's not like that, though. He was a _very_ good friend through some very bad times."

He nodded understandingly, holding the door for her as they approached the Anthropology building. "Important to have friends like that. It's good that you stay in touch."

"Thanks." She nodded. "Yeah. Don't know where I'd be right now without him." She hoped her smile did not look as pained as it _felt_.

He patted her shoulder gently. "This was after Tara died?"

She nodded. James knew the whole story. Almost. "Yeah. Things were… rough, you know?"

"I can imagine, yeah." He gave her shoulder a little squeeze.

Willow was glad when they reached the classroom and several other students converged on James with questions, allowing her to slip to her seat unnoticed. By the time class was over two hours later, she had managed to completely forget Cassandra's email, had even managed to forget the tea-leaves, although her sense of disquiet remained, a constant, nagging presence. 

"Hey, Will, you feel that earthquake this morning?" the girl sitting next to her asked as they started packing their books away.

"Yeah, Maya." Willow nodded, her sense of disquiet growing. "Couldn't have been more than a 2 or a 3, though," she pointed out, as much to comfort herself as anything.

"Yeah, probably not." She shrugged. "Hate them, though. Not my favorite way to start a day."

Willow nodded in agreement, zipping her bag and rising. "Tell me about it."

"Hey, were you clear on that whole distinction James was making? Sanctioned magic versus the illegal kind in aboriginal society? I was kind of iffy on it."

"You should have asked," Willow pointed out, shaking her head.

"I know. I just get shy."

Willow smiled and nodded her understanding. "Okay. I was just on my way to the cafeteria. If you want to join me, I can run through it with you."

"The cafeteria? How can anyone eat that junk? It's only food in the loosest possible sense of the term." Maya made a face. "Why don't we go get pizza instead? I'll drive."

Willow grinned and nodded. "Okay. Let's go."

***

"Make sense?" Willow asked as she concluded her explanation. She grabbed another piece of pizza and looked curiously at Maya.

Maya nodded and poured herself another soda from the pitcher between them. "Think so, yeah. Was that all from James' lecture, though? A lot of it seemed new."

Willow shook her head. "Oh, a lot of it is stuff I picked up in other classes or from friends over the years. I thought it might help, though."

"Oh, it did." Maya nodded and helped herself to a breadstick. "How'd you get to be such an authority on magic anyway?"

"Oh, I had this teacher… friend," Willow amended, smiling and shaking her head. Her smile faded. _Give my love to Rupert…_ Cassandra's message had said. She shook herself, aware that Maya was watching her attentively, waiting for her to finish her story. "I met him when I was in high-school. He got me into it in the first place. I've learned a lot from him over the years." She shrugged and shook her head. "He's… taught me a lot."

"You okay?" Maya asked quietly.

Willow nodded. "Yeah. Just wondering what he's up to these days. He moved back to England a while ago."

"Bummer. Always sucks when friends move away."

"Yeah." Willow nodded. "It does. Not that he's not still there for us when we need him." She smiled and shook her head. "He has this habit of turning up when needed." _Is he needed now?_ a voice in the back of her head demanded. _Is that why Cassandra said he was coming? Does he know something? About the tea-leaves?_

Willow's reflections were interrupted abruptly as another tremor hit. Glasses, plates, and silverware rattled on the table as Willow and Maya dove beneath it.

"I _hate_ Cali!" Maya groaned.

Willow patted her arm reassuringly and waited for it to pass. "Okay, let's get outside," she sighed, climbing out from under the table. _That's all I need. A rumbly Hell-mouth… _

***

Alone in the house, Willow locked herself into her room, extinguished the lights, and pulled out her tarot deck. She was very sure that she did _not_ want to know what the cards had to say, but she was equally sure that she _had_ to know. The cards felt hot in her hands as she shuffled them, reciting a prayer to Apollo that Cassandra had taught her. Ignoring her growing sense of disquiet, she began laying the cards out. 

The Tower. The Chariot, reversed. The Wheel of Fortune, reversed. The Moon. Death, reversed. The Devil. The Hierophant. 

"Giles?" she whispered, staring at the card. It was the only half-way favorable card in the spread, and one that she had always, in her mind, associated with Giles. She frowned, wondering at the odds of a spread consisting of nothing but members of the major arcana. 

Shaking her head, she turned over another card. Strength, the card Giles said he had always associated with her. Another, Justice, Buffy's card. One more, she told herself. The Knight of Swords, Xander. 

Willow shook her head and gathered the cards together. She had seen enough. Giles would arrive soon. He would know how to proceed. Buffy and Xander would have to be told in the meantime, she supposed. But should she tell them now or wait until tonight?

She decided to wait. In the meantime, she would do a bit of research and see what she could find out about what was coming. She would start, as Cassandra had suggested. By brushing up on her Yeats.


	4. Home Again, Home Again

****

Chapter 4 -- Home Again, Home Again

"Okay, so you think about it, Chris," Buffy suggested gently to the young woman. "It might be good for you."

Christine Spears, referred to Buffy because of 'socialization problems', nodded. "Guess after-school tutoring _would_ look good on my college applications," she said softly.

Buffy nodded. "Sure would. And who knows? You might just make a few friends out of it. My best friend Will was the same way in high-school as you are now. She was smart and shy and didn't really have that many friends."

"Story have a happy ending?"

Buffy nodded. "Yeah. She's in college, pulling straight A's, has a handful of friends who really love her, and there's nothing she couldn't do if she put her mind to it." She grinned at Christine. "High-school sucks, it does, and a lot of the people there are absolutely _horrible_ to anyone who's different. Smart like you and Will, off-beat like I was, whatever. But… a lot of the students _aren't_ like that."

Christine nodded. "I know. I _do_ have friends, you know, in spite of what the teachers say. Just because they don't happen to _go_ here…"

Buffy nodded. "I understand, Chris. I do."

"You honestly think that signing up for the tutoring program will get them off my ass?" she asked, sounding dubious.

"Yeah, I really do." Buffy nodded.

"Okay, then." Christine shrugged and nodded. "I'll sign up after you let me go."

Buffy nodded and glanced at her clock. "Tell you what, Chris. We still technically have ten minutes, but why don't you go ahead and sign up now?"

"Okay." Christine nodded and rose.

Buffy rose and walked her to the door. "Sign-up sheets in the front office, and I will see you next week."

Christine nodded. "How long do I have to keep coming to you? I mean… I could be in the library right now."

Buffy smiled apologetically. "I think after next week we can probably start cutting back. Sound good?"

"Yeah. Thanks."  


Buffy nodded. "And if you ever _actually_ need a guidance counselor, just drop by."

"Thanks." Christine smiled at her, then turned and headed towards the office.

Buffy grinned as she returned to her seat. She was so absorbed in filling in Christine's progress-report that she did not notice that there was someone leaning against the door-frame watching her.

"Buffy the Guidance Counselor?" he inquired, chuckling softly. "Certainly has a different sort of ring to it than Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Still, I must say, I approve."

Buffy looked up, momentarily stunned. "Giles?" she asked, not quite able to believe it. At his trademark shy smile and nod, she jumped to her feet and threw her arms around him. "Hey! What are you doing here?" she asked, grinning. "Is… oh, God, is the end of the world coming? Again?"

"Third time this week," Giles remarked regretfully, shaking his head, and lightly patting her back before pushing her to arm's length. He needed a good look at that face to assure himself that all was well with the world. Or, at least, her particular corner of it. "How are you, Buffy?" he asked gently, smiling at her and lightly touching her cheek with the back of two fingers. He had forgotten how lovely she was and how much a simple smile from her could lift his spirits. 

"Good." Buffy nodded. "I'm good. How long have you been in town?"

"Twenty minutes, all told. I wanted to see you first."

Buffy smiled up at a man she had always considered like a father to her. "How are you? Is something wrong?"

"Possibly, but I'm not entirely sure what yet."

Buffy frowned. "You came to Sunnydale from England for a _possibly_?"

"Well, given the source, I thought it would be wise." He shrugged. "And… I missed you," he admitted, slipping off his glasses and cleaning them.

"I've missed you, too," she told him, ushering him into the office. "It's not the same without you around."

Giles put his glasses back on and nodded sadly. "I know. My life feels different" _empty, my life is empty_ "without you." He blinked, startled by that stray thought. Empty? Seemed a little strong, even if it _was_ accurate. But why should it be accurate? He dismissed the thought quickly. "Still, you do seem to be doing quite well for yourself. A Guidance Counselor. How many high-schools did you burn down again?"

"Just the two," she laughed. "I know, Giles. Strange that me of all people should get a job like this."

"Not at all." Giles shook his head firmly. "It suits you quite well. You have all the qualities that a job like this requires. Compassion, insight, empathy, a desire to help those around you. No, Buffy, this job is perfect for you." He smiled tenderly at her. "I'm very proud of you."

Buffy blushed and ducked her head. "Dad, you're embarrassing me," she laughed. 

He was glad that Buffy was not looking at him, because his smile faded completely at the word 'dad'. He took a deep breath and quickly plastered it back on. "I'm sorry, Buffy. I promise to stop expounding on what a remarkable young lady you are. Even if it _is_ all true." He shook his head and looked around the small office again. There was nothing impressive about it, except for what it represented. Buffy was finally coming into her own, growing up and facing the world as she had never been able to do with Giles there for her to lean on. "Amazing," he remarked.

"Yup. Your little girl, all grown up." Buffy grinned at him. "Who'd a thunk it?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "Who indeed. I _am_ proud of you, you know."

"Buffy?" Buffy and Giles both looked up as a cheerful, friendly-looking man in a suit entered. "I just wanted to drop by and let you know that whatever you said to Christine Spears _worked_. She signed up for after-school tutoring _and_ Habitat for Humanity."

Buffy grinned widely. "That's great, sir."

"You have a golden touch, Miss Summers," he said, smiling.

"Buffy Summers, miracle worker," Giles said quietly, smiling proudly at Buffy. "Now _there_ is something unexpected…"

The principal smiled and nodded his agreement with that assessment. "Is this your father?" he asked Buffy.

"Not exactly," Buffy said, shrugging. "This is Giles. Giles, my principal. Um… _boss_."

Giles laughed and shook his head. "Just a family friend," he explained, rising and extending his hand. "Rupert Giles."

"Robin Wood." He smiled and shook hands.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Giles smiled at him. "Buffy not giving you too hard of a time, is she?"

"Are you kidding?" He laughed. "I don't know what I'd do without her any more."

Giles smiled and nodded. "Good to hear. And… Dawn?"

"Dawnie's doing better than I am," Buffy told him, grinning. "More friends and better grades, anyway."

Giles' smile widened. "Wonderful news, Buffy."

"We'll all go out to dinner after work," Buffy suggested. "School… work." She laughed and shook her head. "Whichever."

"That sounds like a plan." Giles nodded. "My treat. I think I still have one or two credit cards accepted in the States."

"Hey, when has Buffy Summers ever said no to a free meal?"

"Well, there _was_ that dreadful diet phase you went through," Giles said with a laugh. "Do you have time to show me around, Buffy? Or do you need to get back to work?"

"She has time," the principal assured them when Buffy hesitated. "You don't have any more appointments today, and we can route all your walk-ins to other counselors."

"Thanks!" Buffy smiled. "We've got a lot of catching up to do." She grabbed Giles by the arm and hauled him out of the office. "His office is where the library used to be," Buffy told Giles. "Which makes him either evil incarnate or really, really unlucky."

"Hmm," Giles said thoughtfully. "He seems a likable enough fellow."

Buffy nodded. "Yeah, seems to be. I like him." She shrugged. "Hell, even the students like him and he didn't give _them_ jobs."

"Well, then, here's hoping that Sunnydale High actually retains a principal for a few years…"

Buffy laughed. "Don't know, Giles. I'm actually starting to wonder. Except for some general creepiness the first day, _not_ that much has happened here."

"Hmm." Giles shook his head. "Curious."

Buffy nodded. "Oh! Xander says that…" She trailed off as a pair of teachers walked by. When they had passed, she whispered, "The walls in the basement have a habit of moving around."

Giles blinked. "Interesting."

Buffy nodded. "That's one word for it."

Giles smiled faintly. "How _have_ you been, Buffy?" he asked gently. He had not realized quite how badly he really had missed her until he had seen her again. Walking with her now, he realized exactly how much a part of him she had become. He could not help but feel a little sad now, in her presence once again, but knowing that he would not be staying.

Buffy shrugged. "Hanging in there. You know how it is."

He nodded. "I do. Being the Slayer is _not_ an easy Calling." He sighed and pulled his glasses off again, cleaning away an imaginary smudge. "I… I wish I could be here to help you all the time, Buffy, I do. But… I _can't_. You understand that, don't you?"

She nodded, sighing. "Yeah, Giles, I do. Don't _like_ it, but I understand it."

He nodded. "So, is dinner to be just the three of us, or shall we invite the entire Scooby gang?"

Buffy considered for a moment. "Let's invite the whole gang. We all miss, you know. And if there's an apocalypse afoot, they should probably know about it."

Giles nodded. "Of course."

"We can do the quality-time thing after dinner," Buffy added.

Giles smiled and nodded. "I'd like that, Buffy. I've missed our times together."

Buffy looked up at him, curious. His voice was even quieter than usual, and there was something missing in his expression. She could not quite place what it was, but she did not like the change it made in him. He seemed so _sad_. 

"You okay, Giles?" she asked gently.

"Jet lag," he lied, smiling down at her. 

He had not anticipated the effect that seeing her again was having on him. It made no sense. Seeing her again should have had him walking on air or, at the very least, not sad. But he _was_ sad, his emotions the psychological equivalent of a blow to the chest. Walls, carefully erected over his years with her, had been allowed to deteriorate while he was away, and now he was paying the price for that. It was not something he could entirely explain, or even _understand_.

Buffy frowned sympathetically. "Well, why don't you go home and get some sleep?" she suggested. "You still have a key to the house?"

He nodded. 

She smiled and nodded. "Okay. Then you go home and get some rest and Dawnie and I will see you around four."

He smiled down at her. "Okay, Buffy. I'll see you then. Have a wonderful day."

"Yeah, you, too."

***

Willow sat on the floor in the middle of the living room, surrounded by open books and sipping at a cup of tea as she read and made notes. She looked up as the door opened, curious. Buffy and Dawn would not be home for hours, Xander was still at work, and no one else she could think of had a key. Except…

"Giles!" she exclaimed as he walked in. She jumped to her feet and launched herself at him.

Startled, Giles dropped his bags. He laughed and shook his head, hugging her close. "Willow, how are you?" he asked, smiling widely and hugging her again. "Oh, you look wonderful," he added when they separated long enough to have a good look at each other. "How are you?"

"I'm… great, Giles." Willow smiled up at him. "Doing a little research. Got an email from Cassandra," she added, her smile fading slightly.

"Ah, of course. Cassandra."

"She why you're here?" Willow guessed, steering him into the living room.

Giles nodded. "Yes, Willow. She's made another prophecy."

Willow sighed. "Can you make any sense of it? Because her email was big with the crypto." 

"Mmm, yes, Cassandra _does_ tend towards the cryptic." Giles nodded. "But she seems to think that it's important that I'm in Sunnydale for… _whatever_ is coming."

Willow nodded slowly. "It's big, then?"

"She seems to think so, and I've never known her to be wrong."

Willow sighed and frowned. "Right. There's this poem…"

"The Second Coming." Giles nodded. "Cassandra reacquainted me with it before I left."

"I've been researching it most of the day, but I haven't found anything yet," Willow said. "Here, sit. You must be tired. I'll get you some tea."

Giles smiled widely. "Tea with Willow. I've missed that."

"Me, too." She smiled shyly and walked into the kitchen.

Giles smiled after her, shaking his head. He _had_ missed his time with Willow, every bit as much as he missed his time with Buffy. It was true enough that there was a different character to his affections for Willow, but that did not change the fact that he _did_ care deeply for her. It was not particularly paternal, even if protectiveness and a desire to nurture her were both a very large part of his feelings for her. Simply put, she reminded him of himself. They had so much in common that it was often difficult for Giles to believe that they were not related. Tara had once joked with Giles that he and Willow were like twins born twenty-five years apart. 

They really _did_ have a lot in common, too. It was not just a certain bookish tendency, or an interest with and facility for the occult, either. It was not even that they both had dark pasts better left unmentioned, although that certainly was one of the chief similarities between them. They had almost identical world-views, and similar ways of approaching problems great _or_ small. They got along well, were typically in complete accord before a single word have been uttered by either. If the circumstances had been different, he might have considered broadening the scope of their relationship. As it was, though, he _could_ not. There would always have been a fearful, nagging suspicion that he was trying to turn the girl into a proxy for Buffy, and he cared for her far too much to do anything of the sort to her. Willow deserved a man or woman who could give her the love and respect she deserved on her _own_ terms.

"Chamomile, lavender, rosemary, and jasmine," Willow announced, breaking off Giles' reverie.

"Ah, thank you, Willow." Giles smiled up at her as he accepted the cup from her hands. "Here, sit with me for a moment," he said, gently catching her arm. "Like old times, hmm?"

Willow smiled and nodded, retrieving her own cup of tea and sitting down next to him. "How are you, Giles?" she asked. "How have you been?"

"Well, very well. Did you get my email?"

She nodded. "Yeah. The irises weren't mine."

Giles nodded thoughtfully. "Odd. I don't know who else would be capable of such a feat, or why they would _bother_."

Willow nodded. "Something's unbalanced somewhere. There have been four earthquakes here this week, two of them today."

He sighed thoughtfully, nodding again. "Cassandra mentioned something about it. There's an allusion to earthquakes in the poem, isn't there?"

"Yeah, sort of." She thought for a moment. "Um… 'That twenty centuries of stony sleep were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle'. Yeah, that's it."

He considered for a moment, slipping off his glasses and polishing them. "Cassandra says that an ancient evil slumbers beneath Sunnydale, that it's stirring. Coll feels it, too. He says that something is poisoning the land, causing some kind of metamorphosis. The earthquakes are a sign."

Willow nodded. "Thought so. Something's very wrong here… well _everywhere_, but it originates here. Can you _feel_ it, Giles?"

He nodded, not afraid to confess his disquiet, not to Willow. "Yes, I can. The sun doesn't look as bright or give as much heat, the air is heavy, the plants don't feel as alive…"

"Yeah," Willow agreed. "Something's coming. And it's big and spooky and…"

"And it has teeth." Giles gently squeezed her shoulder. "I know, Willow. I'd tell you not to be afraid, but…" He trailed off, shaking his head.

"But we _should_ be afraid. All of us," Willow whispered. "I don't think I can do this alone, Giles."

"Why do you think I'm here?" he whispered, sighing. Shaking his head, he put down his tea and gathered the girl into a hug. "You honestly think I would let my kids face an impending apocalypse alone?"

Willow closed her eyes and slid her arms around him, leaning against him. "We aren't your kids, Giles," she whispered after better than ten minutes of silence in which neither of them broke the hug. 

"Sure you are," Giles told her softly, his voice strained.

Willow sighed and pulled away, regarding him sadly and shaking her head. "Your veneer is crumbling, Giles. Probably has been from the moment you set foot inside Buffy's office. You may love her, but it's _not_ paternal and we both know it."

Giles rubbed his forehead for a moment, shaking his head. He did not even bother to ask how Willow knew he had gone to see Buffy first. "I'd forgotten quite how hard it can be to lie to you, Willow." 

"You don't have to lie to me, Giles. Of all of us, I am the _last_ one you need to conceal anything from."

"How long have you known that I love her?" Giles asked in a low voice, taking his glasses off and cleaning them.

"Probably before you did. Or, at least, I've _suspected_ it for years. After I saw what her death did to you, it stopped being a suspicion. It's why you left, isn't it?"

He bowed his head and nodded. "Yes, Willow, it is."

"Don't worry, I haven't told her yet, and I'm _not_ going to."

"I appreciate it, Willow, I really do." Giles shook his head. "It's… Never mind."

"You think it's wrong to love her because she's a Slayer and you're a Watcher." It was not a question.

He nodded. "I'm the worst kind of fool for allowing myself to love her."

Willow shook her head. "No one who knows Buffy could do anything else. Once you know her, you _have_ to love her."

"I know," he sighed. "I do." Another sigh. "It was so much easier when I could still convince myself that she was like a daughter to me. It was easy in England, but once I got back here and saw her again… Things just started falling apart."

"Are you going to tell her?"

  
He shook his head, letting out another deep sigh. "Willow, whatever I may feel for her, nothing is _ever_ going to change the fact that she always has and always will view me as more of a father-figure than anything else. The truth would only scare her."

Willow wished that she could tell him that he was wrong, that things _would_ work out and he and Buffy would be able to live happily ever after, but she knew better. Giles was absolutely correct in his assessment of Buffy's likely reaction and they both knew it. It was sad. She knew that he would probably allow his feelings for her to prevent him from _ever_ forming another romantic relationship in his life. Willow sighed and gently squeezed his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Giles."

Giles smiled faintly at her, covering the hand on his shoulder with one of his own and giving it a little pat. "So am I, Willow." He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Some things are meant to be and some are not."

"Healthy attitude," Willow said softly. "Just wish it weren't necessary."

He nodded absently and they sat in silence for some time. It not an awkward silence, but a comfortable one. There was simply nothing that needed to be said at that moment in time, and neither one felt any particular inclination to fill the silence with idle chatter. Giles knew that Willow was glad to have him back and Willow knew that Giles was glad to be back even if it _was_ bitter-sweet for him. They were able to communicate that without words _or_ telepathy. Giles finished his tea and idly examined the dregs as Willow leafed through a book on demonology. He looked at the cup again and picked up his saucer, swirling the tea in the cup three times and carefully upending the cup onto the saucer in a single, practiced motion. He waited for the liquid to drain off and looked up at Willow.

"Cassandra said to ask you about tea leaves, Willow."

Willow looked up, startled. "During the earthquake this morning, my teacup fell onto the floor," she told him quietly. "The patterns… An hourglass, a church steeple, a cross…"

Giles nodded, frowning. It had to be one of the least fortuitous combinations he had ever heard of. He removed the cup from the saucer and examined the leaves thoughtfully. He blinked, startled. "Hourglass, steeple, cross…" He sighed and put the cut down.

Willow frowned up at him. "That was weird."

Giles nodded in agreement. "Have you found anything in those books yet?"

She shook her head. "I'd cast a spell, but I don't know if there is one for divining the nature of a coming apocalypse."

"Of course there is," Giles told her. "You'll need help, though."

Willow nodded. "What do we need?"

"Black mirror, a brazier, some bay leaves, jasmine, cedar chips, and three silver candles."

Willow considered for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I have all of that in my room."

"Wonderful." Giles rose and extended his hand to her. "Shall we, then?"

Nodding firmly, Willow accepted his hand. "Let's go," she said, following him up the stairs and into her room.


	5. Seers

****

Chapter 5 -- Seers

"Ready?" Giles asked Willow gently as they lowered themselves to the floor. 

He knew that he should have been feeling grave and anxious, but he could not bring himself to. Spellcrafting with Willow was a unique, and exciting, experience. The raw power she was capable of calling up was more than what the entire Coven could have brought to bear on a spell. 

Giles had _always_ enjoyed spellcrafting as part of a group. The mingled energies, unified but individual, flowed through the group from one caster to the next. It was more intimate than sex in many ways, because it was a cooperation not of the body but of the mind and the spirit. Individual brain-waves came into complete harmony, transforming a pair or a group into an entity. Individual identity _was_ retained, but there was a sense of interconnectedness, a bond to the other casters and to the universe itself, that was humbling beyond words. 

Humbling it may have been, but exhilarating and euphoric as well. There was the Buzz of course, almost a high, that resulted from being flooded with so much more energy than your body was accustomed to holding, but it went beyond that. When your own magic, your own life-force, mingled with that of another, you came to know that person more deeply than it was possible to know them in any other way. More, though, you found yourself changed. A piece of you remained in the other caster, and a piece of them in you. It was the reason why Giles still occasionally found himself doing things that he should not have been able to. Residual Power from the other members of the Coven had become not residual at all, but as inherent a part of him as if he had been born with it. Unpredictable though it was, it left him probably the second most powerful sorcerer on the planet, second only to the Wicca kneeling across from him.

It was the first time since Tara's death that they had combined their energies towards a spell, and Willow's power had grown by leaps and bounds. Each would probably end up more powerful for it than they had been before. And the Buzz was going to be amazing. Assuming it did not put them both into comas first. Part of him was afraid that it might. Humans were, after all, fragile vessels and both of them contained more power already than they had any right to. Looking into Willow's eyes as they knelt there, he suspected that she was suffering from the same concerns.

"Can you do this, Willow?" he asked gently. 

She nodded slowly. "Think so, Giles. I'm just a little worried about all the Power."

"I know." Giles nodded and gently squeezed her shoulder. "We can still decide not to do this," he offered.

  
Willow shook her head. "No. We need to know what's going to happen," she said firmly, squaring her shoulders.

Nothing if not brave, Giles reflected. He could sense her anxiety over the whole thing, but she flatly refused to back down. Her sense of determination was something about her that he had always loved, even when they were at odds. Willow was most decidedly her own person, and she traveled her own path, not letting anyone stand in the way of her chosen course. It was an admirable trait, and it made her the perfect ally to have in times such as these. He nodded and extended his hands towards her. They hovered, one palm-up and one palm-down, in the space between them. The black mirror rested on the floor and his hands were reflected, distorted, in the glass surface. 

Willow inhaled deeply, steeling herself. Closing her eyes, she extended her hands, sliding them into Giles' waiting hands. One hand facing up, the other down, their palms touched lightly. Her own hands were cold, as always happened when she grew nervous. His hands were comfortably warm and she could feel a lifetime's worth of calluses on them. 

She had learned enough about palmistry in England to know that a person's hands told his life-story. Giles was no exception. He had the callused fingertips of a scholar who had dedicated decades of his life to books and knowledge, the callused palms of a man adept with a sword and a dozen other weapons. Small scars spoke to injuries received in battle and burns taken during spells. These were the hands of a sage and a warrior, but gentle, too, the hands of a man who knew how to give and receive love. 

She opened her eyes and looked into his, waiting.

He gave her a reassuring smile, nodding encouragingly. Such cold hands, the skin so soft. The hands of a girl who had not really lived yet. She _had_ of course, had fought enough battles and experienced enough loss to fill _ten_ lifetimes for anyone else, but it did not change how young she was, how much she lacked in terms of life-experience. She was so much more powerful than he could ever hope to be, but she still needed guiding hands, hands like his, he supposed, to direct and support her. He allowed his eyes and expression to speak to her, reassuring her that he would not let any harm befall.

Willow smiled back, nodding firmly. Her expression one of grim determination, she began chanting the Latin words Giles had given her. When he began chanting a few moments later, he spoke different words in a different language. Gaelic and Latin speech filled the room, neither overpowering the other but rather ebbing and flowing, combining and melding with one another. Two spells, Giles had explained, spoken in tandem, combining with and enhancing each other.

Willow closed her eyes as she received her first taste of Power. It was swirling through the room like a slight breeze on a summer's day, little eddies of energy twining around each other, gradually building to something greater, like threads wrapped together to form a rope. It was a beginning; Willow understood that. As strongly as she could feel it now, it would only get stronger, especially once it stopped flowing around them and started flowing _through_ them. Already she was feeling that familiar tingle, down through to her toes. This spell was a powerful one, almost dauntingly so.

Giles nearly lost the cadence of his recitation as he felt the amount of raw Power swirling through the room. It was not a spell he had ever cast before, not one to be taken lightly, and it caught him a little by surprise. As he struggled to regain his focus, he saw that Willow was surprised at well. Enjoying herself, enjoying the feel of the Power, but surprised all the same. Sliding back into his rhythm, he smiled and allowed himself to appreciate the Power as well. 

It swirled around the room, seeping into their bodies in a process not unlike osmosis. It was a beginning. He could feel it starting to build in his chest, coiling outwards. In a few moments, there would be an abrupt influx. _That_ would be where things were decided. If _either_ of them failed to remain focused and in control of the energies being called, the spell would not work and both would probably wind up spending the rest of their lives catatonic. If they were lucky.

They finished their chants at the same moment and fell silent, staring at each other and waiting for what was to come. Giles drew a series of deep breaths, steeling himself. Willow remained still, not breathing or blinking as she regarded her friend. The amount of trust he was placing in her here was massive. She knew that without having to be told. She knew as well as he did the dangers involved in harnessing this much energy. That Giles had so much faith in her gave her faith in herself. 

The energy in the room increased abruptly, exponentially. The candles went out and objects flew from their shelves. Willow and Giles grasped hands tightly to avoid being knocked apart and began chanting again, ignoring the Power that was deluging them. It flooded inwards, like fire in their veins, saturating them down to the cellular level. Pain deeper than either had ever felt before threatened to overwhelm and bring with it oblivion, but they were both accustomed to pain and both had been trained to largely ignore it. They fought the pain and won. Breathing raggedly, they stared at each other with wide eyes and completed the spell in shaky voices.

Giles nodded weakly in Willow's direction with obvious approval. It was time. They kept their hands firmly wrapped in each other but moved them outwards, allowing them to look down. Into the mirror. The black surface twinkled up at them. The smell of burning cedar and bay was heavy in the air, the smoke wafting through the darkness. It floated above the mirror, reflected and distorted. Giles felt a sudden, almost overwhelming urge to end this before it began. He had absolutely no desire to see whatever this mirror had to show them, none at all. He looked up at Willow and saw that she seemed to be entertaining roughly the same impulse.

__

Can you do this? Do you still want to? he sent telepathically.

__

Definitely don't want to, Giles. **Have** to, though.

Giles nodded and dipped his eyes in the direction of the mirror, indicating that it was time to begin. They leaned towards each other until their foreheads were touching. Giles gave Willow a last, encouraging smile, then dropped his eyes to the mirror, studying the shapes there.

Willow was grateful for that smile even though she knew that he was as concerned about this as she was. This was not a spell to be taken lightly, and even two as powerful as they should _never_ have attempted it. But they had good cause to, she knew. Cassandra _knew_ things, and if this had her worried then it _must_ have been bad. They had to _know_ what was coming if they were going to stop it. She took a deep breath and dropped her own gaze to the mirror.

She saw her own eyes distorted in the mirror, and _his_ eyes, reflected clearly. Their faces were not so clearly reflected, distorted beyond recognition. Shapes were visible, though, in the smooth black surface. The smoke and their own reflections were distorted into a number of shapes that Willow was growing to hate. A cross, a steeple, an hourglass. And was that a cradle?

"Twenty centuries of stony sleep were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle," Giles whispered, staring at the cradle-like shape. 

"What rough beast?" she breathed, never taking her eyes from the shifting shapes in the mirror. "And what rough beast, its hour come 'round at last, slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?" she demanded.

"Show yourself!" Giles commanded in a voice that, while quiet, echoed throughout the room. 

The distorted images reflected in the surface of the mirror began to shift. Then the black surface itself began to shift, swirling and rippling in the frame like water. They watched avidly, tightening their grip on each other's hands and leaning closer, trying to divine the true nature of the nebulous, shifting patterns. 

There was an abrupt falling sensation, tearing cries from both of them as they tumbled downwards, clutching each other for dear life. They landed on a surface that was both solid and strangely yielding. Sand, Giles realized. It was completely dark. Hugging each other close, neither could see a thing.

"What happened? Where are we?" Willow whispered frantically. 

"I don't know. Something went wrong, it must have."

"We're in the mirror," Willow realized, pulling away slightly but not relinquishing her hold on him.

Giles frowned, aware that she was probably right but wishing that she might be wrong. "That wasn't supposed to happen." 

"I know. Somehow the spell worked… differently than it should have."

It had to be the greatest understatement he had ever heard, but he did not comment on it. "We must find a way out."

"No!"

"What?" He stared at where he knew she must have been, stunned by her protest. "Willow, we can't very well _stay_."

"We have to, don't you see? We're inside a black mirror, Giles. They're powerful articles, links between the past, present, and future."

Giles considered this for a moment. "Maybe the spell _did_ work, then, better than we could have hoped. Perhaps we can find out what we're up against here."

"Right." Willow nodded, releasing one hand and reaching to touch his face. "We _have_ to do this, Giles." She took a deep breath before continuing. "I am _so_ scared, Giles, but we _have_ to do this. For Buffy and every other member of the human race."

The voice that answered was not the voice she expected.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, baby. Not here."

In spite of the pitch darkness, Willow stared in the direction of the voice, too stunned to speak.

Giles was stunned as well, but still managed a very shaky, "Tara?" 

***

"It's so cool that Giles is back!" Dawn enthused as she followed Buffy into the house. "Do you think he'll stay?"

"I honestly don't know, Dawn." Buffy shrugged and walked into the kitchen. "You hungry?" she asked before continuing. "The impression I got from him is that he's only staying through the apocalypse. But he _does_ seem to really miss us, so who knows."

"It would be great if he could stay," Dawn said, sighing and sitting down at the counter. "I mean… after mom died, he was always there, you know?"

Buffy nodded. "I remember. I don't know what we would have done without him." She shook her head, her expression reflective. "It's strange, Dawnie. Giles was _always_ there for us, you know? More than our own father or any other guy we were related to, he was _there_."

"I know." Dawn sighed and nodded. "I miss him so much sometimes."

Buffy nodded and walked over to the cabinet, pulling down a glass and pouring herself some water. "Me, too. He might still be napping, but if you want to go see if he's up yet you can. I'll make us a snack to tide us over until dinner."

Dawn grinned and nodded. "Okay, Buffy." She rose and half-skipped from the room.

Buffy watched her go. She had spent a lot of time dwelling on how much _she_ missed Giles, sometimes managing to forget that he had been an integral part of Dawn's life as well. Giles had been very much like a father to both of them, more so than their own father had been even when he had still been married to their mother. But Giles had also been more than a father, at least to Buffy. He had been a friend and a confidant, someone she could go to and confide in no matter what. Having him back would have been wonderful, and she hoped she would be able to convince him to stay.

He had been acting strange, she realized, frowning. Not just tired as he had said. Definitely sad. Something was nothing him. A lot. She resolved to discuss it with him at the first available opportunity. It was the least she could do for a man who had _always_ been there when she was sad or upset. He had been so many things to her, father, friend, teacher. Whatever she had needed exactly when she had needed it. Having him in England had made her realize that she really had taken his presence for-granted. She was determined to change that now.

"_Buffy!_"

She dropped the glass she was still holding at the sound of Dawn's scream, not even noticing when it shattered, spilling water and broken glass over the floor. Heart pounding, she raced from the kitchen and up the stairs. She found Dawn standing in the doorway into Willow's room, her expression stunned and horrified.

"What is it?" Buffy asked quickly, looking over her shoulder. 

She gasped at the sight that met her eyes, pushing past Dawn. The bedroom was in shambles. It looked as though a small tornado had whipped through it. Willow and Giles were lying on the floor, hands clasped together, their eyes opened but glazed. For one horrible moment, she was _sure_ that neither was breathing. To her relief, she saw that they _were_ breathing, just very slowly and shallowly. Bending over and feeling their pulses, she became aware that their skin was like ice and strangely waxy.

"They were doing a spell," Dawn told Buffy quietly, pointing to the brazier and the candles. She walked over to the brazier and inhaled deeply. "Cedar and bay leaves," she told Buffy quietly, picking up some discarded chips and leaves. "Willow once told me that they're for seeing the future…"

"Divination." Buffy allowed her hand to linger on Giles' throat long after she had finished feeling for his pulse. "They must have been… I don't know. Trying to figure out what was coming or something."

"Are they going to be okay?" Dawn asked anxiously, kneeling next to Buffy.

"I don't know," she whispered, shaking her head helplessly. She _hated_ feeling helpless.

"Anya might know," Dawn told her. "She knows a lot about magic."

"You're right." Buffy nodded. "We should call her."

"Should we move them?"

"I don't think so. I don't want to risk it." Buffy shook her head.

Dawn nodded. "Okay. I'll stay with them for you while you call her."

Buffy nodded and reluctantly rose, staring down at her friends for several moments before turning and fleeing the room.


	6. Spirit Guide

****

Author's Note: I am so totally sorry both for the length of time it took to get this up and how short it is. RL launched a full-scale offensive and it was all I could do to find time to get this much done for posting. Will try to get future chapters up more quickly, and they'll almost certainly be longer, but RL may strike again at any moment, so sorry in advance if it does.

****

Author's Note #2: Also, I'm pretty much past the point of being able to integrate the current season. RL has been keeping me from the TV for better than a month now so I have no idea what's going on. Consider this kind of an AU season 7 at this point. Among other things Anya never went bad again (because I didn't see those eps, lol) and Spike's out of town because I have no clue what's up with his character right now (in addition to not much liking him).

Chapter 6 -- Spirit Guide

"They're both fine," Anya told Buffy with a shrug after giving Willow and Giles a quick once-over.

"That's funny," Dawn said, frowning. "Because from where I'm sitting, they look more catatonic and less fine…"

"Comatose," Anya corrected her, looking thoughtfully around the room.

"And how is that _fine_, exactly?" Buffy asked, shaking her head.

"Their souls are… off somewhere." Anya shrugged and rose, looking around the bedroom as she spoke. "But their bodies are unharmed and their souls _must_ still be fine or their bodies would be having trouble, too. Their souls are probably not in any immediate danger. Ah." She held up a small bag made of black silk and tied with a silver cord.

"'Immediate danger' being an _incredibly_ relative term on the Hell-mouth," a voice contributed from the door. "Especially when your soul is not in your body where it _belongs_."

Buffy looked up with a weak smile. "Hey, Xander. Thanks for coming." 

Ignoring his arrival, Anya fished a few fingers-full of powder out of the bag in her hands and walked over to Willow and Giles. She sprinkled some of it over them, then blew the rest into the air, muttering as she did so. The powder swirled through the air over their bodies and two tendrils of energy made themselves seen, one coming from each body at the chest, snaking through the air several times and then seeming to vanish into the floor. Anya stared for a moment. Willow's was silvery-blue, the one coming from Giles almost black. Both appeared healthy. The two tendrils were intertwined several times, which was fairly unusual. Obviously there had been a massive transfer of energy taking place between them. 

"The good news is that they're still anchored," she informed the others.

"_Meaning_?" Xander asked.

"Their souls are still tangibly linked to their bodies. Should make it easy to find their way back when they're… done."

"Done doing what, exactly?" Buffy asked. "Can you tell?"

Anya looked around again, taking a deep breath. She could still smell cedar-smoke in the air, and jasmine, too, she thought. Her eyes fell on something almost concealed because Giles had fallen across it. She gingerly tugged it out from under him, careful not to shift his body at all, and watched the tendrils shift. She nearly dropped the black mirror as the implications of that made themselves clear to her.

"What is it?" Dawn asked, staring.

"Black mirror. Used for Divination," Anya told her, carefully placing it on the ground between Willow and Giles. "They're inside."

"Beg your pardon?" Xander asked, gaping.

"Their souls are in the mirror," Anya said, shrugging.

"Well, how do we get them out?" Buffy asked.

"We _don't_," Anya told her. 

"We can't just leave them in there!" Dawn protested.

"We try to pull them out before they're ready to come, or if they're being held back, and their connections might snap," Anya told her. With her typical forwardness, she added, "Their souls would be lost in there. Forever."

Xander stared down at them, horrified. "What do we do, An?" he whispered.

"We don't." She shook her head apologetically. "We can't interfere, not at this level. The amount of power involved in whatever spell they were doing… It would kill any one of us. Besides, for all we know, the spell worked."

"If this is what happens when the thing works, I'd hate to see what happens when things go south," Buffy muttered, shaking her head.

Anya shook her head. "Divination. It's about _seeing_ things. There's only so much that can be seen on this Plane. _This_ thing, though," she said firmly, pointing at the mirror. "It's a link, a junction. There's nothing you can't see in there. Past, present, _or_ future. You want to know something that can't be known here, this is what you use."

"You look into them!" Dawn protested. "You don't _go_ into them."

"Unless there's no other way." Anya shrugged. "What were they trying to find out anyway?"

"Oh, there's another apocalypse coming," Buffy muttered in disgust. "It was probably about that. Had Giles a little on edge, I guess."

Anya shook her head. "I guess." She looked up at the others. "Look, we keep their bodies warm and safe. It's the only thing we _can_ do until something changes. Someone should be with them constantly." 

Buffy shook her head. "You guys take turns. I _really_ need to kill something," she told them. She _really_ hated feeling helpless. Slayage sometimes helped.

"Might be better to see if you can beat some information out of something," Anya suggested helpfully. "See if you can find out what's coming."

Buffy shrugged. "Hey, so long as it involves carnage and a good cardiovascular workout. Dawnie, you want to come?"

"You're going to let me go Slaying on a school night?" she asked, grinning and rising.

"Hey, I think when two of your best friends are in a coma you're entitled to take the day off."

"Cool. I'll grab my cross and meet you downstairs."

Xander shook his head as he watched them go. "Gotta love the sisterly bonding," he said, sinking the floor next to Anya. "Although until I met Buffy I always just assumed that sisterly bonding involved doing each other's hair and nails instead of killing demons."

Anya smiled and wisely observed, "The family that Slays together stays together."

***

"Tara?" Giles asked in a shaky voice. "Is that you?"

The voice that came back to them through the darkness was unmistakably that of the slain Wicca. "I thought you guys might need a hand."

"Baby?" Willow whispered, tears in her eyes. She rose slowly and started towards Tara's voice. "Wh… what are you doing here? You shouldn't be here. You should be in Heaven. Are you stuck here? Oh…" Willow sobbed in the darkness, startled to abruptly feel two sets of arms around her. She recognized both from long experience. Giles behind her, Tara in front. She clung to both, crying.

"I'm not stuck, baby," Tara assured her gently. "I can come and go freely between Earth and the Summerlands. I do all the time to check up on both of you. I'm here now because you need _help_."

"Tara, how are you able to be tangible?" Giles asked gently, taking his hands from Willow to allow her to enjoy Tara's embrace without intrusion. 

He was absolutely certain that it was indeed Tara, could feel her beautiful and familiar soul, but he was confused by the fact that he had put his arms around Willow to find that Tara had been able to do the same. It should not have been possible. Tara was dead and had not, to the best of his knowledge, been raised or transmigrated. So how was she able to touch the woman she loved?

"It's the mirror, Giles," Tara explained. "I think it's because it's a link to the past, when I _did_ have a body. I can't manifest myself on Earth, just here and some of the outer Planes." She traced her fingers over Willow's face. "I was so worried about you after I died. I'm glad you're all better now," she whispered.

"I wish I could _see_ you," Willow whispered, her voice shaky. 

Giles smiled sadly at the reunion unfolding before him, wishing that they could at least have had some privacy. Unable to provide that, he murmured a quiet spell that illuminated the area in which they were standing with a soft, blue-black glow.

Tara smiled radiantly at Giles. "Thank you," she whispered before turning her attention back to Willow. "You look great, baby."

"So do you, sweetheart," Willow whispered, smiling through her tears. 

As much as she had wanted to be able to see Tara's sweet face again, she had been afraid, too, worried about what Tara might look like almost a year after her death. Some part of her had half-expected Tara to look like something out of a horror-movie. But she was exactly as Willow remembered her, only more serene and more lovely, as if she was lit from within.

"You're even more beautiful now," Willow whispered, reaching up and tracing her face with her fingertips.

"I know." Tara smiled at her. "I've found peace."

As the reunited lovers whispered to each other, Giles made a determined study of his surroundings, conscientiously ignoring the girls. The ground was indeed covered with sand. Black in color, it sparkled in the supernaturally-created light and shifted in spite of a notable lack of wind. The sands of time, perhaps? He scoffed at the foolish fancy and turned his eyes to the horizon. Not that he could make out much beyond a distance of ten or so feet. The blue-black light did not really lend itself to seeing _anything_ very distinctly, even up close, and the color of the sand merely compounded the limitation. 

"Giles," Tara murmured, joining him.

He looked up, startled, but smiled at the girls. "Yes, Tara?"

"You're here to find out what's coming?" Tara guessed.

Willow and Giles both nodded. 

"Can you tell us?" Willow asked hopefully.

Tara shook her head regretfully. "I wish I could, but there are… _rules_. I can only help you find your answers, not give them to you myself."

"But you _can_ help us?" Giles asked.

Tara nodded. "They tell me that it's kind of unusual that I'm actually allowed to do that much."

"_They_?" Giles repeated.

"The… powers that be." Tara shrugged. "Can't tell you about them, sorry."

"I understand," Giles assured her. "Why _are_ they letting you help us?"

Tara shook her head uncertainly. "I'm not honestly sure. They said something about… the battlefield is different this time."

"There are more fields of battle than the battlefield," Giles murmured.

"Sounds like something Cuchulain would say," Willow observed.

He smiled faintly. "It _is_. He told me that very thing this morning." He glanced at Tara, pretty in a flowing green gown, wearing flowers in her hair. "What must we do?"

"I'm not entirely sure," she confessed quietly. "Death does not automatically bring omniscience." She gave a helpless shrug. "But all the answers you seek are here if you know where to look." Smiling faintly, she jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "Hey, I didn't say a word…" she added, smiling shyly.

Giles chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I _have_ missed you, Tara."

"I've missed you, too," he agreed. "Shall we, then, ladies?"

***

"You think they'll be okay?" Xander asked Anya, sighing as he returned to the room with two blankets.

She nodded up at him from where she sat next to Giles. "If they were in distress, we'd know. For the time being, they _aren't_. Whatever is going on in there, it's not dangerous to them. Yet," she added, shrugging.

Xander sighed at the amendment. Only Anya. At least a guy never had to worry about her _lying_ to him. "We _would_ know though?" he asked to be sure. He dropped one of the blankets on the bed and unfolded the other before spreading it over Willow.

She smiled gently up at him, rising. He loved Willow, always had. It was different from the kind of love he had and maybe still did feel for Anya herself, but it was a strong attachment anyway. This was tearing him apart. She spread the other blanket over Giles, then knelt on the floor near Willow.

"Come here," she told Xander, beckoning. "You know how to take a person's pulse?" she asked.

Xander nodded. First aid had been a requirement for his last promotion.

"Feel Willow's pulse? You feel how steady it is?"

Xander felt for her pulse and nodded. "Yeah. Strong, too." 

"As long as her pulse, temperature, and respiration are where they would be if she's conscious, she's in no danger, Xander," Anya promised. "You can keep an eye on her that way."

He smiled faintly at her. "Thanks, An."

"Xander," Anya began slowly. "She's strong, powerful. She'll be fine."

He looked up at her, startled. "You think?"

"If anyone can survive this, it's these two, Xander. They're not stupid. They'd have gone into this knowing what could happen. They wouldn't have unless they were confident of success." She hesitated. "Neither of them is going to throw their lives away, Xander. They're both very committed to everything that you guys work for."

  
"What about you, An?"

"Of course I am, Xander. I'm still here, aren't I?" She looked up at him. "After you… left me, they invited me back into the fold." She shrugged. "And I'm still here."

"I'm glad," he whispered, sighing. Shaking his head, he took her hands in his. "An, I never meant to hurt you. I was just so scared… You met my family. I didn't want that to be us."

"It wouldn't have been, though. We wouldn't have let it."

"We would have. Neither of us was ready. Neither of us was nearly grown up enough or mature enough." Xander shook his head apologetically. "An, I am so sorry that it got to that point."

"I know. So am I." She shrugged. "Who knows. Maybe it's not lost to us forever."

He smiled faintly. "Be nice."

"Here's hoping." She smiled at him. "It's getting late. Get some sleep, Xander. I'll watch them for awhile."

"Thanks, An." Sighing, Xander climbed onto the bed and closed his eyes. "Wake me up when you need me to take over or if anything changes," he sighed.

"Yeah, Xander. Try to get some sleep now." 


	7. Into the Labyrinth

****

Chapter 7 -- Into the Labyrinth

"Well, it's definitely not what I expected," Giles said softly, staring up at the massive stone building before them.

"It's the Standing Stones," Willow whispered, frowning in confusion.

"This place, it takes images from your own subconscious minds," Tara explained. "The black sand, the wastelands, all of it. The Standing Stones was a place of learning for both of you, so the place of learning _here_ takes that form. That's how it is here. Nothing is original except what is introduced from without. Even those who challenge you will probably take the forms of people you have known in the past."

"Those who challenge us?" Giles asked, raising an eyebrow. "Tara? Something you wish to share with us?"

Tara opened her mouth, then paused, listening to voices that neither of the others could hear. 

__

"No, our daughter. It is not yours to tell, but theirs to discover," the voices echoed and reverberated. 

__

"This is their destiny."

"Their **destiny**…"

"Leave them to it."  


"Let them find their **own** way."

"Hard though it may be for you…"

"You must prove your love for them thus."

Closing her eyes, Tara sighed deeply and shook her head. "Nothing, no," she told Giles.

Giles knew better. She knew more than she was telling, as Cassandra so often did. And, as was so often the case with Cassandra, someone or some_thing_ kept her from speaking fully. As much as he would have liked to challenge whatever was keeping her from telling them everything she knew, he knew better. Powers did not, as a rule, take kindly to being challenged by mere mortals. Besides, he got the impression that Tara was not simply a puppet to Them. They had reasons for not wanting her to speak and They had conveyed that to her. The final choice had likely rested with Tara herself.

"Do we go in?" he asked, staring up at the stone structure. 

It seemed a hundred times more foreboding and a thousand times less welcoming than the Standing Stones _ever_ had. Willow's subconscious influence, perhaps? He glanced over to the young Wicca and saw the truth of his supposition. Those first days at the Standing Stones, before he had brought her to his own estate, had been frightening ones, marked by uncertainty and trepidation for Willow. It had not been until much later that Willow had realized that, with the exception of Cassandra, the Coven was literally more afraid of her than she was of them. Even then, though, much of her fear had remained as she had been forced to wonder if they would act on that fear, and how.

"Do we have a choice?" Willow asked, managing to keep the waver out of her voice. "We've come this far, Giles."

He nodded, smiling tenderly at her. "Let's press on, then."

"Rupert, Willow. Welcome, both of you, to this hall of knowledge."  


"_Tinne_?" Giles asked, frowning at her.

"No, Rupert." She shook her head. "Not, perhaps, dissimilar in many respects, but _not_ your friend."

"Who are you, then?" Giles asked firmly, stepping between her and Tara and Willow, placing himself between them and a potential threat. "You seek to challenge our entry?"

A gentle smile crossed her face as he placed himself in harm's way for the sake of his friends. It was an admirable gesture, if both needless and unlikely to make a difference. This one had many layers and would, as always, bear careful watching.

"_I_ am the Gatekeeper. I do _not_ challenge those worthy of entry, nor those known to us." She surveyed the group thoughtfully. "Step forward, Tara. You are known to us. _Yours_ is the right of free movement. Yours also is the right to speak for the mortals."

__

"Weigh your words, daughter…"

Tara nodded firmly and stepped around Giles. When she spoke, her voice was free of the nervousness and hesitancy which had so often marked it in life. Weigh her words? Well, she could tell the Gatekeeper nothing but the truth. It was all any of them had. And it was enough.

"Milady, these mortals are my friends. They seek answers not for their own benefit but for the good of all mankind, to prevent horrible things from happening. Will you let them pass?"

"Perhaps." She regarded Giles and Willow thoughtfully. "We shall see, Tara. Honesty is required in this place. If they are willing to display that, then they shall pass. You, girl-child. Step forward."

Giles gave Willow's hand a gentle squeeze, forestalling her. "If you hurt her--" he warned.

She gave him another gentle smile, not reassuring but clearly amused by his words. "It is not my place to work harm against _anyone_. Mine is only to grant or deny passage. Step forward, child."

Willow nodded and squared her shoulders, freeing her hand and approaching the Gatekeeper who looked so much like the old priestess. "Yes?" she asked, her voice free of fear _or_ pride. "What would you know of me?"

"What ties bind you to these two? What claim do they have on your loyalty?"

Willow hesitated, then realized that only absolute honesty would do here. Not even the technical truth was acceptable. "Love, the ties of love. I have loved both as friends and equals. I… have loved both as more. Nothing will ever change that I love them in all of these ways and no matter who I love in the future or how I will _still_ love them, exactly as I always have. _Nothing_ else is required to ensure my loyalty to them and my trust in them is absolute."

"Well answered." The Gatekeeper nodded, her expression obscurely approving. "You." She pointed to Giles. "Ripper. We know of you. Step forward."

Giles shivered at her casual use of the old nickname, echoing Cassandra's earlier use of it, but he did as ordered, moving to stand next to Willow. "_What?_" he growled, scowling at the Gatekeeper.

"The name offends you?"

  
"What do you think?"

"Giles," Willow whispered, touching his shoulder and shaking her head.

Tara looked on with wide eyes but did not interfere as Willow gave Giles a firm yet infinitely gentle look. Tara recognized a piece of Giles in that look and wondered if either understood how completely they were bound to each other. It was a complex web, the Interconnectedness between Willow and Giles and Buffy and Xander. Love, romantic, affectionate, and familial, was a part of the equation but not the only part by any means. In truth, the ties that bound them transcended love, whether they knew it or not. It was hard to say exactly where Dawn and Tara herself fit into this, except that Tara knew that they _did_ somehow. Beyond that, though, it was just the four. Others would come and go, friends and lovers, enemies and allies, but those four shared a common destiny. 

Angel, Cordelia, Oz, Anya, Spike, Faith, Jonathan, Glory, the old Mayor… bystanders, spectators. For better or worse, their destinies were down other paths. They could harry the others, even come between them for a time, but they could not stop them from traveling their appointed path together. This was their first step towards that, she knew. They would fight the coming battles alone and, in so doing, they would learn to better appreciate what they had in each other. They would draw strength from one another, as they always had. As they did now.

"Sorry, Willow," Giles sighed, taking a deep breath and looking up at the Gatekeeper. "What would you know?" he asked softly, pulling off his glasses.

"How far would you go?" the Gatekeeper replied in a low voice.

Giles frowned, not at the question but at the wording. "I don't understand."

"To protect your… _children_. How far would you go?" 

He snapped his glasses back on. "You demand honesty? Well, here it is, then. They are _not_ my children. Willow is my friend and my equal, if not my better. I love her more deeply than I think any man has _ever_ loved a 'friend'. Anya, Xander? Friends whom I would do anything for, but neither are children and I would do them a disservice in supposing them to be so. Buffy?" He hesitated, closing his eyes. He took a deep breath and opened them again, confessing, "There is _nothing_ paternal in my feelings for her and there has not been for a _long time_. You happy?"

"No more than you are," came the Gatekeeper's gentle response. "You have spoken with honesty, but you have _not_ yet answered the question, Rupert Giles. I put it to you again. How far would you go? What would you give up?"

"As far as I had to. Everything." He nodded firmly. "I believe that I have already proved that, at least as far as Willow is concerned."

"You have indeed proved your willingness to sacrifice everything for the witch. In so doing, you have proved your willingness to pay any price to protect the others. We find your answers honest if not pleasing."

"I honestly don't give a damn if you find my answers _pleasing_ or not," Giles told her, firmly but without belligerence. "You wanted honesty, you've had it. Now may we enter?"

The Gatekeeper bowed her head and stepped aside, holding the door open. "The Oracle awaits your presence in the library. Be on your guard and do not become separated. Comport yourselves at all times with both openness and honesty and kindly recall that there are more fields of battle than merely the battlefield."

"You sound like Cuchulain," Giles murmured as he accepted Tara's offered hand. Willow had already taken the other.

The Gatekeeper smiled. "Give him my regards."

"Cuchulain or whoever in here _looks_ like him?" Giles asked, his voice shaky and laden with emotions, long buried but no longer willing to be denied.

"Both, actually." With a bow, the Gatekeeper vanished into thin air.

"There are more fields of battle than the battlefield," Willow murmured. "I understand what it means, I just don't see how it applies."  


"Don't you?" Giles asked gently. "When we've already prevailed on one such field of battle?"

Willow nodded her understanding. The Gatekeeper had challenged them to be honest. But to be honest with her, they had been forced to take a good look at themselves, to uncover truths more comfortably left buried and forgotten. Sometimes truth could be _so_ painful, especially in Giles' case, she reflected. He had been forced to bare his soul, confessing in public things that he had only recently been able to confess to himself. He was still pale, his voice still shaky, and his gentle eyes were shining with unshed tears.

"If one man overcomes a thousand enemy soldiers on the field of battle and another man overcomes only himself, truly that second man is the greater warrior," she quoted. 

Cuchulain had been fond of that particular piece of Chinese philosophy and now Willow knew it to be true. Giles would rather have faced a thousand vampires or a legion of demons than be forced to confess one particular truth about his feelings for Buffy. Yet he had done so without hesitation when required to, proving that he would indeed go as far as it took to keep his friends safe.

Tara smiled. "About time you learned that lesson." It was meant as much for Giles as for Willow. He might actually make it after all.

"Sometimes being honest with yourself is the hardest thing in the world," Willow observed softly. 

"It can be." Giles nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. He sighed deeply, composing himself. "But frequently necessary. And _always_ easier with good friends," he added, smiling down at Willow.

"Are you going to tell her what Cassandra told you?" Tara asked gently, hating to intrude on the moment but feeling that this particular intelligence was an important one for all of them to share.  


"What?" Giles asked, frowning.

  
"Always before, the three of you have drawn strength from each other…" Tara prompted.

"This time may be different," he whispered, closing his eyes. He had virtually forgotten Cassandra's words of warning. He had not _wanted_ to remember… "We may be required to fight some of the coming battles alone."

"Ah, come on!" Willow protested, shaking her head. "The Scoobies do_ not_ go it alone. It's not how we do things, Giles!"

He closed his eyes and nodded. "I know, Willow. We are stronger together. Individually… We're nothing."

Tara frowned at the words, shaking her head. How could he not see how wrong he was?

__

"You do not believe it, daughter, yet you would let it passed unremarked."

"Why? Why do you do this?"

"Have you learned nothing in your time with us?"

"Nothing at all, or she would not let it pass."

Tara winced at the accusation. "You're wrong!" she snapped. Aware that Giles and Willow were staring at her, she shrugged. It had been meant for the voices, but that fact made it no less true in their case. "You are," she told Giles. "_None_ of you are nothing. It is true that together you are _so_ much stronger, but it does not change what all of you have individually, either. Every one of you has something to make you special, to make you _strong_. All of you. How can you not _see_?" she asked gently, shaking her head. 

Giles and Willow regarded her with wide eyes. It was probably the most either had ever heard her speak at one time, and she had spoken without hesitation or uncertainty, refusing to back down. Giles glanced over at Willow to gauge her reaction and saw her smiling. He smiled, too, unable to help himself. It made a nice change in Tara, this newfound confidence. He envied her it, even while he was thrilled that she had finally found it. Yes, he decided, it definitely suited Tara.

He experienced a brief pang, realizing that he would probably not see her again after this unless things went horribly wrong in their struggle to prevent what was coming. He missed her quiet presence and gentle ways so much. He missed all of them, of course, but Tara's case was different. Unlike with the others, though, there was no condoling himself with promises of occasional visits and more frequent phone-calls and e-mails, no way at all to 'stay in touch' with Tara. Unlike the others, she truly was lost to him.

Which was when his gaze fell on Willow, smiling proudly at her love, tears in her pretty eyes. As much grief as he felt over Tara's passing, he knew that Willow felt a thousand times more, grief enough to shatter an already-fragile psyche. It was still beyond him how Xander had managed to pick up those pieces or how Giles himself, with liberal help from the Coven, had managed to start putting them together again, but Xander had and they had and she really was going to be just fine. Except for the pain. That would probably never leave her completely, and that awareness made his heart scream in anguish for hers.

Moved by everything she knew he was feeling, Tara reached out and gently squeezed his shoulder. "It's going to be okay," she promised gently, meaning it with every ounce of her being and in both of their cases.

Giles, more experienced with loss, was already well down the road to recovery. He would _always_ remember and miss her, but life would go on for him. And for Willow, though it would probably take longer. With help from her friends, Willow would eventually move forward, celebrating Tara's life instead of mourning her death. Eventually, she might even love again as she had loved Tara. The thought made her happy. Willow needed that. The Wicca thrived on love, giving it as well as receiving it. It was why the presence of her friends strengthened her so greatly. With someone to love, someone to love _her_, Willow would be capable of facing any challenge the gods threw her way, and she would come through her ordeals stronger.

"Everything is going to be okay," Tara repeated, her voice firm with the conviction she felt. 

  
Giles regarded her for a moment, then nodded faintly. "Yes, perhaps it may yet be. Always assuming you're right about us being stronger than we think…"

Tara smiled up at him. "Oh, Giles, I _am_. Ask Willow, _any_ of the others, how strong you are. They won't speak of you as the bitter, used-up old sorcerer that you think of yourself as. It's not what they see when they look at you, and it's not what _I_ see." She looked at Willow, nodding confirmation of her words, and smiled. Willow had her own set of doubts and fears. Tara strongly felt that it was time to lay those to rest. "And, Willow, baby… _you_." Tara smiled and shook her head. "Yours was the courage to stop what you had begun, to come back into the light, to face the consequences of your actions and accept responsibility. It was the hardest thing you'd ever done, but you _did_ it. You're braver than you think."

Willow shook her head. "No…"

"Yes," Giles whispered, squeezing her shoulders and smiling down at her for a moment before gently propelling her into Tara's arms.

Tara held her close, smiling gratefully at Giles and nodding. "Yes, baby. It's true," Tara whispered. "You _did_ slip, there's no denying that, but you turned around and you picked yourself up and you made the effort. I'm proud of you."  


"So am I," Giles whispered, giving her shoulder another squeeze. "And we aren't the only ones."

Willow looked up at him with a weak nod, composing herself with a shake of the head. "We should go in now," she suggested. "Before I lose my nerve," she added with a grin at both of them.

"There, now. _That_ is the Willow I know," Giles said with a faint smile, nodding his approval. "Shall we, then?"

Tara nodded and offered one hand to each of them. "Remember what the Gatekeeper said," she reminded them.

Giles nodded. "Comport yourselves with openness and honesty." 

"Don't become separated," Willow added. "And the Oracle awaits in the library."  


Unspoken, but remembered by all three as they crossed the threshold, was the Gatekeeper's warning. _You will be challenged…_


	8. Widening Gyre

Short chapter. Sorry, RL's being painful. Please enjoy and I'll get 9 up as soon as possible.

Chapter 8 -- Widening Gyre

"Okay… This is _not_ The Standing Stones," Willow said softly, looking around the corridor. 

"Not Kansas either," Tara contributed absently. "Who's the Escher fan? I mean, sure, it's roomy enough, but who wants to pay for a whole extra dimension that no one's ever going to use?"

Giles rubbed his forehead and shook his head. Walls joined each other at impossible angles, the ceiling and floor met at more than one point, and the stairways… "How the hell are we supposed to find the library in this?" he sighed. 

"I'm still having trouble on which one is the floor," Willow murmured, immediately regretting it. 

Vertigo did not _begin _to describe what she was feeling looking at this Escher drawing rendered into reality. Her grasp on Tara's hand felt like her only anchor to reality at present and that anchor paled in comparison to what she was looking at. She was suddenly afraid that they might find out that they had actually been standing on the ceiling and go crashing to the floor.

Giles closed his eyes and found it much easier to concentrate, so he kept them firmly shut as he thought. "This is an entrance hall, yes?" he asked, keeping a firm grip on Tara's hand.

"If this were the Standing Stones it would be," Willow agreed. She closed her own eyes, following his lead. It really _was_ a lot better.

"Which means doors," Giles said, nodding. "Which, _hopefully_, will lead to places with somewhat less disorienting architecture."

"But there are no doors," Willow pointed out. "Just a long, weird hallway."

Giles shook his head. "There are doors. There must be. We just need to _find _them. Unless you want to chance one of the stairways?"

"Not particularly," Willow assured him. _Not in this lifetime, and preferably not in any other, Giles._

He blindly reached out and found the wall with his free hand. "Ladies, when we get out of here, kindly remind me never to look at another Escher again," he murmured, finding a doorknob. "Ah." He pulled the door open and stepped through, tugging at Tara's hand and urging her to follow.

Willow entered last and closed the door without opening her eyes. "Did it work?"

"I don't know," Giles replied. "I haven't opened my eyes yet. Tara?"

"Um, hang on." Tara opened her eyes and nodded. "Yeah, it worked. Kind of."  


"Kind of?" Giles repeated, opening his eyes and looking around. "Oh, bloody hell."

"At least it doesn't give us vertigo," Willow contributed, looking around a dungeon that seemed straight out of the Spanish Inquisition. Oh, and there was the table where a suspect would be tortured until he confessed. A distant, agonized scream echoed through the dungeon. "You know, I'm thinking we should take our chances outside," Willow announced, reaching behind her for the doorknob. "Shit!"

Giles spun, startled to hear that kind of language out of Willow. Until he saw what had made her say it at which point he let out a few choice pieces of vernacular himself. Composing himself, he managed not to snarl his next words.

"Where's the door?"  


Willow shook her head and Tara shrugged. More screaming was audible now and other sounds that none of the three even wanted to guess at.

"Marvelous!" he sighed in exasperation. "A witch, a spirit, and a sorcerer stuck in the sodding Inquisition!"

"Hey, it's not like it's real, right," Willow said in what was meant to be a reassuring tone. It came out sounding more frantic than anything. "It's like Tara said, just… _images_ taken from our minds… not like they can hurt us."

"You quite sure about that, love?" a gentle voice asked. Ethan Rayne inquired, stepping out of the shadows in the robes of an Inquisitor. 

"You," Giles snarled, loosening his grip on Tara's hand. 

He frowned when she tightened her own grip on his in return. Shaking his head, he struggled to break free, intent on protecting them from whatever Ethan had planned for them. The symbolism of the Inquisition was not lost on him, of course. Those years had been notoriously bad times for people like Willow and Tara and Ethan obviously planned on reviving certain of those customs.

"Giles, it's not him!" Willow protested. "They're trying to separate us. Don't let them!"

The last words were spoken a moment too late. Giles had freed himself from Tara's grasp and launched himself at 'Ethan'. The Inquisitor simply held his ground and spread his arms as though waiting for a hug. When Giles bowled into him, frantically trying to abort the lunge, both vanished in a flash.

"Giles!" Willow shouted, staring at the spot where he had been. She took a step forward, only to feel Tara's hand tighten spasmodically around hers. "Giles," she repeated in a whisper. "Tara, is he…" She could not bring herself to say the word.

"I don't think so. Can you feel him?"

Willow closed her eyes and cast out with her mind. He was there, faint, but she could still feel his soul. "_He's in pain!_" she whimpered. "Tara, we have to help him."

Tara nodded, twinning her fingers through Willow's. "First we have to find him."

Willow gave a weak nod. "We can't go back. Forward, we have to go forward."

Tara nodded. "Lead the way."

Willow took a deep breath and nodded, slowly advancing into the dungeon and steadfastly ignoring the torture implements scattered all around, some covered in blood that was still damp and sticky. Perhaps because of the smells and sounds, the trek across dungeon seemed endless, but they soon approached a large wooden door. It took both of them to pull it open and when they had, they stared into total darkness.

"Well?" Willow asked Tara.

"I can't tell you where to go or what to do, baby," Tara sighed, shaking her head apologetically. "Go with your instincts. Trust your heart."

Willow nodded and closed her eyes, casting out again. She could feel him, marginally closer, but weaker. And in so much pain… Tears in her eyes, she stepped through the door.

***

"Okay, _that_ is definitely not a good sign!" Xander announced as Giles gasped loudly, writhing on the floor. "An, sweetie, what the hell?"

"He's in pain," Anya announced, reaching down to feel for a pulse. The man's heart was beating like a jackhammer, fast and hard, but still regular. She let out a relieved sigh. "He's not dying," she told Xander. Looking up at the horrified look on his face, she sighed and repeated more firmly, her voice gentle, "He's _not_ dying."

Xander nodded shakily.

"Whatever's wrong with him isn't affecting Willow," Anya told him, suspecting that the news would comfort him.

Xander gave another shaky nod. "Okay. That's… something at least."

Anya nodded and rose, moving to crouch next to him. "Xander, I want you to go get yourself a drink of water, okay? Lie down on the couch for awhile. There's nothing you can do here."

"I can be with them. It's something," he told her firmly.

"Xander, this is ripping you apart inside," she protested, shaking her head.

"No shit, An." Xander nodded fiercely. "You mean to tell me that you aren't even a _little_ concerned?" he demanded.

"Of course I am, Xander," she sighed. "They're my friends."  


"They're mine, too." He shrugged. "I mean, I know I'm just the non-powerful, lame side-kick in all this world-saving, but… they're still my friends."

Anya sighed and sat down, facing him. "You're not that lame, Xander," she told him gently. "For a man."

Under other circumstances, the gibe would have had him laughing. As it was, he could only manage a faint smile. "Thanks, An."

"Come here." Shaking her head, she gathered him into her arms. "Dopey at times, but never lame."

"Ah, An, thank you," he sighed, wrapping his arms around her. "I've missed you're backhanded compliments."

"I think you mean left-handed compliments," Anya corrected him.

Xander shook his head. "No, An. Coming from you, compliments tend to be more like getting backhanded," he told her gravely.

"Yeah, well…" Anya shrugged helplessly.

***

"I always said your temper would be your undoing, Ripper," Ethan purred in his ear before kicking him sharply in the ribs.

Supporting himself on all fours, Giles let out a cry and fell to the floor. A familiar floor. The abandoned warehouse where the Cult he had once belonged to had practiced.

"Not that you ever listened." 

Another kick followed the previous one and this time Giles was sure he heard bones breaking. 

"Why are you doing this?" Giles groaned, not trying to get up again. 

Every time he tried to get up, Ethan kicked him down. It was not the only physical abuse he had been subjected to since becoming separated from Willow and Tara and finding himself in the torture chamber. In spite of the fact that several of his ribs seem to have been broken, it was not even the worst he had been subjected to. 

"Why do _you_ think?" Ethan demanded. "You honestly thought you could protect the little witches from me?"

"Don't actually _have_ to," Giles noted quietly, biting back tears. "They're both quite strong enough to hold their own against you."

"_You_ on the other hand, seem to be having a bit of a problem in that department, hmm?" Ethan chuckled and shook his head.

"Go to hell…"

"Perhaps I already have," Ethan suggested, crouching next to him. "In which case I'm in fine company with my old chum Ripper."

"I am not dead and this is not hell," Giles murmured, pushing himself up on his arms. "And _you_ are not Ethan." He shook his head and struggled to get upright.

"Who am I then, hmm?" Ethan inquired, catching his arm and helping him stand.

"My worst nightmare. The one thing that forces me to confront a past I would rather forget." He shook his head. "But you aren't Ethan. Hell, you're not even _real_ for all I know."

"Oh, I assure you I am _quite_ real."

"But you aren't Ethan."

"No, no I'm not."

"Just another obstacle to overcome, I suppose?"

"Correct."

Giles sighed and considered how to proceed. He was in too much pain to think _very_ clearly, but he found himself doubting that 'Ethan' could be subdued in a fight. He had _tried_ to hurt him and had gotten himself beaten to a pulp for his efforts. Obviously a different approach was called for. 

"I don't suppose asking you nicely to let me go would help?"

Ethan shrugged.

Giles narrowed his eyes. "You took Ethan's form deliberately. You knew I would attack instead of trying to reason with you. Because, of course, there is no reasoning with Ethan."

A faint nod.

"Divide and conquer, is that what you lot are about?"

"You may be required to face some of the coming battles alone," a gentle voice breathed in his ear. 

"Cassandra." Giles closed his eyes. "The Oracle?"

She smiled and nodded. "You can go now," she told 'Ethan'. "Your services are no longer needed in regards to this mortal."

He nodded and smiled winningly at them. "Sorry about the abuse, old boy. You brought it on yourself, you know."

Giles firmly ignored the almost overwhelming urge to rush him and wipe that smug smile off of his face. "Get out," he suggested instead. "You heard the woman."

"What woman?"

Giles frowned and started to nod towards 'Cassandra', only to realize that she was no longer present. "Great," he sighed, shaking his head in disgust. When he looked back at 'Ethan', he was gone, too. "Guess I'd better find Willow," he murmured, looking around for a door.

Sighting one, he started towards it, leaning heavily on the wall for support. He had been in more pain before, but not by much. He did his best to ignore it, though. He had to find Willow quickly, he knew, before 'Ethan' appeared to her, probably in the form of Warren. Attempts to overcome that particular spirit, or whatever it was, by force were repaid brutally, and seemingly in proportion to the violence of the initial attack. Willow would get herself killed.


	9. Answers

****

Author's Note: I am really, really sorry about the horrendous delay between Chapter 8 and this one. RL has been absolutely insane just lately and my Buffy muse seems to have taken advantage of my distraction to take a protracted vacation. Well, the Bounty Hunters just returned her, so on with the story. Thank you for bearing with me for so long. :) We're on the home-stretch now!

****

Chapter 9 -- Answers

"You're… dead," Willow whispered, her voice shaky.

"Not exactly a permanent condition in Sunnydale, is it? You should know that as well as anyone." 'Warren' smiled bitterly at her. "How many times have you defied the Fates, witch?"

Willow narrowed her eyes. "Not nearly often enough, obviously."

"Willow," Tara whispered, shaking her head. "Don't…"

"Think, Willow," a weak voice urged from the far end of the room.

"Giles?" Willow stared at his bruised face with wide eyes. "What did they _do_ to you?"

"Doesn't matter," he assured her gently, approaching and gratefully accepting her arm when she offered it. "Just _think_," he directed firmly, hanging on to her for support.

Willow looked up at 'Warren', her expression defiant. "You're not Warren. He's dead and in Hell where he belongs." She nodded firmly, hanging on to Tara and Giles, closing her eyes and feeling their skin under her hands, a tangible reminder of _reality_. She opened them again and stared at her challenger. "You aren't Warren," she repeated more firmly.

"Truly spoken, Seeker." 'Warren' inclined in head politely and vanished into thin air.

"God, Giles, are you okay?" Willow asked once he had gone.

"Fine, Willow," he assured her gently, nodding. "There's a lesson about keeping one's temper in check here, I think."

"A lesson one of you still needs to learn, it seems," Tinne's gentle voice interjected. 

"Consider me duly chastened," he muttered. 

Tinne glanced at her wristwatch with a faint smile. "Time will tell."

"Time is not something we have a lot of," Giles told her quietly.

"You always were an impatient boy," a new voice contributed. 

A pretty young woman with laughing brown eyes and black hair in a long braid stepped out of the shadows. She was dressed in a pale green dress that would have looked equally at home in the 60s or in the modern day on a girl like Willow or Tara. She took the three in for a moment before her gaze settled on Giles. Shaking her head, she planted her fists against her hips and scowled at him.

"Not _another_ fight, Rupert!" she exclaimed. 

"You're not her, so don't even pretend," Giles growled.

"Actually, I _am_," she replied gently, stepping towards him and offering her hands.

"It's her, Giles," Tara assured him gently, nodding.

"Mum?" he whispered, taking a shaky step towards her.

"Mmm hmm." She nodded and gifted him with a loving smile. "I am _so_ proud of you, Rupert," she whispered. "I wish I could have been there to tell you that more."

"Not your fault, it's not your fault." He shook his head, clasping her hands tightly and biting back tears. 

They were the same smooth, cool hands that he remembered from his childhood. Hands that could wipe away his tears or soothe a fevered brow. Hands that could climb a tree or sew on a button with equal ease. Hands that had taught him how to fight and how to plant a rose garden, how to raise a baby animal and how to slaughter one for supper.

"My how you've grown up," she murmured, hugging him close. "You've your father's good looks. And your mother's temperament, I see by these bruises."

  
He hung his head, genuinely abashed by her words. "I _do_ try to control my temper, mum. But where the safety of my friends is concerned--"

"There are better ways to guard them from harm, son," she interrupted gently. "You get yourself killed, who watches over them? Hmm? Who watched over _you_ after I got myself killed?"

He shook his head. "Mum, it wasn't your fault."

"Of course it was. Your father was right and I should have left the slaying to the Slayer. Trying to face such a dangerous demon alone was stupid of me."

"You went after _it_?" he whispered, staring down at her with wide, horrified eyes.

She nodded apologetically. "I still kick myself for that. Even if I hadn't thought of myself, I should have thought of you. By the Goddess, Rupert, brought up by nannies, shipped off to that _ridiculous_ boarding school… it's no wonder our side nearly lost you." She shook her head in disgust. "He always _was_ a fool," she muttered. "It doesn't matter, though," she added quickly. "What matters is that, in all your years on this planet, you've yet to learn discretion. How you've managed to survive this long is quite beyond your father."

"How is he?" Giles asked stiffly.

"Still dead. Don't change the subject," she ordered.

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry." He bowed his head.

"Where you do not consider your friends, you must consider those who look to you," she told him gently, reaching up and cupping his face in her hands. "And you _must_ be where you are needed," she added firmly, wiping away his tears as she cradled his face.

"Sunnydale?"

"You think you're truly needed in England, do you, that you even have to _ask_ me such a thing?" She shook her head. "Your heart has always known where you should be, and with whom," she told him. "Your brain is for _thinking_, not rationalizing. Follow your heart, son."

He swallowed hard but nodded. "Yes, mum."

"Good lad." She smiled tenderly up at him. "Now, I have just one more thing to say, and then I have to go again."

"Do you have to?" he asked quickly, catching her hands and watching her imploringly.

"I'm afraid so." Her expression was sad and apologetic, but firm. "I am _so_ proud of you, Rupert. I've been watching you even more closely since your first encounter with the Slayer. I was worried there for a minute when you left for England again, but I didn't have to be. Your heart knows where you belong and you _are_ tied to Sunnydale _and_ to your… Scooby gang." She smiled and chuckled softly, shaking her head. "You remember what I used to tell you? About Faith?"

"Faith makes all things possible," he recited quietly. "But it does _not_ always make them easy."

"Wonderful. You remember." She stood on her tiptoes and gently kissed his cheek and whispering in his ear, "I love you and I am _so_ proud of everything you have accomplished in this life. Keep down this path you have set yourself on and _always_ trust your own heart. Best you got of me, that heart of yours. Follow it, trust it, use it. Have Faith in it. _Always_ have Faith."

  
"Always," he promised her, nodding and bending to kiss her cheek. "I love you, mum."

"I love you, too, Rupert. Now… _go_. You have an apocalypse to prevent." She made a shooing motion with her hands before turning and leaving the room through the far wall.

Giles let out a small sigh, shaking his head.

"That was your mom?" Willow whispered. "She died fighting a demon?"

He nodded. "A vengeance demon. It was laying waste to a small community in Ireland. She went to investigate. She was _not_ supposed to confront it herself, just gather information until the Slayer arrived." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Very much like me, always impatient and wanting to take on the world single-handed." He exhaled slowly. "And it got her killed. Now _there_ is a lesson in self-restraint."

"Indeed so," 'Tinne' agreed quietly. "You should travel on now. The Oracle grows impatient. You may find her in the library." She gestured towards the far door and promptly vanished in a puff of smoke.

"That's, what? Two challenges down?" Willow asked as they crossed the room.

"Yes." Giles nodded. "Honesty and self-restraint."

Tara did not bother to point out that they were wrong, that they had each, more than once, been challenged from within, to overcome fear or anger or regret… They would grow to understand that in time and be stronger for it. 

"So what does that leave?" Willow wondered aloud.

"Trial by fire, no doubt," Giles muttered.  


"Now _there_ is a thought!"

"Morgaine," he greeted their newest challenger with a resigned sigh, shaking his head. "It was a joke, you know."

She shrugged. "Well, I _am_ running short on ideas. You played twenty questions at the door, got yourself beaten to a pulp in the dungeon… fire sounds like fun."

"Couldn't we just have an in-depth discussion of those Harry Potter books you like so much?" Giles suggested.

"Literary trivia, fun! The lamb is also the lion."

Giles frowned, wondering what it was with Coven members and Christian imagery these days. "I beg your pardon?"

"Why does that sound familiar?" Willow asked quietly, thinking hard.

Morgaine tilted her head thoughtfully at Willow for a moment, then sat back and began whistling the Jeopardy tune. 

"CS Lewis," Willow announced after a moment. "Aslan. He could turn into a lamb sometimes."

"Very good." 'Morgaine' smiled at her.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Giles asked, taking a deep breath.

"Oh, nothing," she admitted with a shrug. "Just stalling for time." She laughed softly when his eyes began darting around, searching the shadowed recesses of the meeting-hall for enemies. "You always so distrustful of others?"

"As a general rule, yes." Giles nodded and continued looking around.

"Relax. I'm just stalling because I hate this next part."

Giles' frown deepened at those words. "Do you?"

'Morgaine' nodded faintly. "Tara, it's time."

"Can I have a minute to say good bye?" Tara asked hopefully.

"Yes, but be quick. The Oracle grows impatient."

  
Tara nodded and turned to face Willow and Giles. "I can't stay," she told them apologetically, shaking her head. She gave Giles a quick peck on the cheek before turning to Willow. Both women had tears in their eyes. "I still sing to you," she whispered.

"Baby…" Willow whispered, pulling her into a hug. "Damn, I miss you so _bad_."

"I know you do. I miss you, too. Just try to remember that I'm not gone. I'm there when you need me." Tara pulled away far enough to rest one hand on Willow's heart. "And here the rest of the time. We _will_ see each other again, I promise you."

"Just not in this life," Willow whispered through her tears.

"No, probably not. But in the next one." She squeezed Willow tightly for another few moments before pulling away completely. "You are the best thing that ever happened to me."

"So are you," Willow told her, reaching up and smoothing away her tears. "I love you."

"I love you, too." She paused, listening to the voices that only she could hear. "I have to go now. Good bye, Willow."

"Bye, Baby." Willow closed her eyes and when she opened them again, Tara was gone. She threw herself into Giles' waiting arms, sobbing.

"A girl could do far worse for a guardian angel," he whispered into her hair, hugging her close and rocking her.

'Morgaine' watched in silence until Willow's sobs had turned to sniffles. "It's time," she whispered.

Willow and Giles both looked at her, neither relinquishing their grasp on the other.

"Time for what?" Giles asked cautiously.

"Call it a trial by fire," 'Morgaine' suggested. "No actual fire, but…" She shrugged. "You must face this challenge alone. Who will be first?"

"I will," Willow offered, stepping out of his arms.

"No!" Giles protested. "Willow…"

She shook her head and looked up at him. "I'll have to do this either way. Might as well get it over with."

"Yes, but… are you thinking clearly enough?"

She nodded slowly. "Oddly enough, I really am. I… I got a chance to say good bye this time, Giles," she whispered, smiling up at him. "I never got a chance to before, but now I have…" She nodded more firmly. "I'm fine. I got a chance to say good bye. I'm fine."

"Okay." Giles nodded slowly and gently kissed her cheek. "Go ahead, then."

'Morgaine' rose and extended her hands to Willow. "Come, Seeker."

Willow nodded and slipped her hands into hers. "Let's get this over with," she muttered as the two vanish.

Giles cursed and took a step towards where they had been. "Damn it!" he shouted.

"Cup of chamomile tea would do you a lot of good, I think."  


"Coll?" he asked, turning to face the boy.

"Not really." He gave a faint shrug. "Hardly matters, though. Your trial awaits."

"Lovely," Giles sighed, squaring his shoulders and taking the boy's hands. He abruptly found himself standing in the old Sunnydale High library. Frowning, he looked around. "Well?" he asked 'Coll'.

"These mirrors are a link between the past, present, and future."

"I know that." Giles nodded.

"In a few minutes, a young lady will come through those doors in search of a book."

"Buffy," he realized, paling.

"Merrick has just died. She never wants to see another vampire as long as she lives."

"I don't blame her," he whispered.

"It lies in your power _not_ to force her Destiny upon her."

Giles shook his head. "No," he protested. How many times had he wished that it was in his power to free Buffy from the burden placed on her? She was so young, could have been so happy… "If I don't… All those lives she's saved… What would happen to those people?" he whispered harshly. Buffy had saved so many lives, Willow and Xander and too many others to count.

"_Some_ will live. Who's to say how many? Time will tell."

He shook his head, torn between the irrational desire to offer up _all_ of those lives in exchange for one girl's happiness and the knowledge of the kind of horrors that might be unleashed if he did. Irrational, the desire to let Buffy become a normal teenager again was overwhelming.

So many things had been denied her because of her Calling, so many more taken away… He wanted her to have them _all_.

"We want the people we love to be happy," Coll observed quietly.

"Yes. Yes, we do," Giles agreed, nodding and moving to stand behind the front desk as a pretty blonde girl entered.

"Hey, I need a book…"

Swallowing hard and mentally cursing himself, Giles reached under the desk and extracted a volume, closing his eyes as he slid it across the wooden surface to her.

"Thanks, I've been looking for that," a familiar voice said.

His eyes shot open as Cassandra plucked the book about Vampires from his hands. He was in the library of the Standing Stones. Shaking, he sunk into the nearest chair.

"You actually considered giving her that history textbook, didn't you?" Cassandra asked, shelving the volume and pouring herself a drink.

"Of course I did," he muttered, fighting the urge to be ill.

"It can't have been an easy decision."

"It _should_ have been!" he retorted. "Selfish bastard that I am, I actually considered offering up an entire city to the slaughter in exchange for one girl's happiness."

"World, the entire world, Rupert," she corrected him gently. "Buffy has saved it more than once." 

"Thanks for reminding me," he replied sullenly, rubbing his forehead.

"You miss the point," 'Tinne' informed him quietly.

"Do I?" he whispered, shaking his head. "What are you going to make poor Willow decide?"

"She may tell you this if she so desires. We will _not_ share it." 'Tinne' shook her head. "If the decision had not been difficult for you, the test would have lost meaning. You demonstrated a greater love in depriving her of her happiness. She's saved the world more than once. Happy or not, she would be no less dead."

"So why do I still feel like an evil person for denying her happiness?"

"You served the greater good. You have proved that you love all mankind, not just her. Perhaps, in time, this thought will give you some comfort."

"Maybe," Giles sighed. "In time." He looked up as the library door opened and 'Morgaine' ushered a shaken-looking Willow inside. Rising, he swiftly crossed the room to her. "Are you okay?" he asked gently.

She nodded, hesitantly at first and then again with more firmness. "Yeah. I did the right thing. Wasn't easy, but I did." She looked past Giles to 'Cassandra'. "Hi."

"Well done, child. It's good to see that Tara's faith in you wasn't misplaced." 

"She could have warned me that it would be about her," Willow noted quietly.

'Cassandra' shrugged. "Come, both of you. We have much to discuss." She turned and approached the fireplace, picking up a book as she walked past the table.

Opening it, she recited:

__

Turning and turning in the widening gyre 

The falcon cannot hear the falconer; 

Things fall apart; the center cannot hold; 

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, 

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere 

The ceremony of innocence is drowned; 

The best lack all convictions, while the worst 

Are full of passionate intensity. 

Surely some revelation is at hand; 

Surely the Second Coming is at hand. 

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out 

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi 

Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert 

A shape with lion body and the head of a man, 

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, 

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it 

Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. 

The darkness drops again; but now I know 

That twenty centuries of stony sleep 

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, 

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, 

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? 

She snapped the book closed and looked up at them. "An ancient evil slumbers beneath Sunnydale, waiting. When it awakes, and it will soon, it will be in a position to trigger the apocalypse."

"We knew all that," Giles pointed out quietly.

Cassandra nodded and pointed towards a table bearing an open atlas. "It is poisoning the land, pushing things ever so subtly out of alignment."

Giles looked down at the atlas, mentally memorizing the area that was circled in red. "What is it? A demon or a demigod or--"

"A demon. For now."

"With the potential to become more powerful?"

"_Far_ more powerful," Cassandra agreed. "You _must_ kill it before it begins to feed. This has the potential to make an Ascension look like a stroll in the park." 


	10. Battlefields

****

Author's Note: Thanks for bearing with me for so long and putting up with all the RL-induced delays. I hope you've enjoyed the ride.

Chapter 10 -- Battlefields 

Giles jerked awake with a start. "Atlas!" he gasped, pulling himself into a sitting position.

Buffy, curled up on the bed with Dawn looked up groggily. "Atlas demon?" she yawned. Snapping awake abruptly, she shouted, "Giles!" and slid from the bed, pulling the Watcher into a bear hug.

Giles smiled and returned the hug, peripherally aware that Willow was scuttling around the room in search of a map. He was grateful to the girl for allowing him the opportunity to share such a moment with Buffy. He took them where he could get them and was _always_ duly grateful for whatever circumstance allowed them.

"Oh, God, are you okay?" Buffy demanded of him, not loosening her grip.

"Fine, my dear," he whispered, smiling as Dawn threw her arms around him as well. He repositioned his own arms until the embrace encompassed both girls. "Dawn. How was school?"

"How was school? You want to know how _school_ was?" Dawn made an indignant noise and glared at him. "How could you _scare_ us like that?" she demanded. 

"Yeah!" Buffy added, pulling away and crossing his arms. "Giles!"

"Well, we hardly _meant_ to scare anyone," Giles pointed out as Willow knelt next to them with a map. "We were just trying to ascertain… There!" 

He pointed to the map, his finger coming to rest over Willow's, the girl having pointed not a second before him. 

"The Atlas demon is there?" Buffy asked, peering at the map of Sunnydale.

"Atlas demon?" Willow repeated, shaking her head and groping blindly for a pen. 

Giles shook his head. "Premadiabla, Buffy, not an Atlas demon."

Willow nodded. "This is way creepier than an Atlas demon."

"What's an Atlas demon?" Xander yawned, stumbling in to the room. "Wills!"

She smiled and let him pull her to her feet for a hug. "Hey, Xander," she laughed, hugging him back.

"Anya, they're back!" Xander shouted over his shoulder.

"Yeah, got that from all the shouting." Anya nodded and stumbled into the room. "Okay, someone said Atlas demon? Why's everyone getting so bent over an Atlas demon?" she demanded of Giles.

"Not an Atlas demon, Anya," he told her, shaking his head and finally releasing his hold on the Summers girls. "It's a Premadiabla."

"It's a Prema? Oh, God." Anya stared at him with wide eyes. "That is _not_ good," she muttered, sitting down. "Tell me it hasn't emerged yet?"

"Would we be standing here if it had?" Giles asked reasonably. 

Anya sighed and closed her eyes. "So we can still stop it?"

"Well, it's assuming that a lot of things go right, but yeah." Willow nodded. "Until it emerges fully, we can still stop it."

"Guys, _share_," Buffy requested. "What is it, how do we kill it?"

"Premadiabla, it's an Old English bastardization of the Latin Prima Diabla or _first_ demon. Well, demoness," Giles ammended. "She is, according to most accounts, the mother of all demons."

"And when she emerges things get ugly fast," Anya contributed.

Willow nodded. "Last time one emerged fully… well… the dinosaurs went extinct." 

"That's not good," Xander murmured. 

"Others have tried to emerge since," Giles added, circling a point on the map Willow had gotten. He rose and turned on the overhead light. "But none has ever succeeded, the rest of the world having a vested interest in preventing it."

Anya nodded. "Slayers and Watchers have joined forces with _demons_ to keep these things from emerging. Kind of says it all right there."

Buffy nodded, her eyes wide. "In other words this thing is pretty nasty."

Willow nodded. "Their emergence is typically associated with mass extinctions, ice ages, cataclysms…" She shrugged. "It's already starting."

"Really?" Xander asked, glancing out the window. "'Cause I didn't notice an ice-age last time I was outside…"

Everyone fell silent as another earthquake rocked the house.

"_That_ I noticed," Xander said, shifting uncomfortably. 

"There have been ecological disturbances as well," Giles added. "They're only going to get worse. Earthquakes, too."

"How do we stop it?" Buffy asked.

"Quickly," Giles told her simply. "Our window of opportunity is limited. They go from vulnerable to more or less omnipotent in fairly short order." 

Buffy nodded. "Okay, then let's get armed and move out."

As the Scoobies filed out, Giles caught Anya's arm. "I think I finally understand what it is that you have against rabbits," he murmured.

"I _told_ you they were scary," Anya said, shaking her head and moving to catch Xander.

"Rabbits?" Dawn asked Giles. "This thing is a rabbit?"

"Well, no, not precisely." Giles shook his head and smiled down at her. "They do have rather a lot of white fur, though. And long ears. And… twitchy noses."

"Twitchy noses?" Dawn laughed. "Ooh… all tremble in terror before the twitchiness that is its nose!"

"Yeah, well, the mental image is less amusing when you add the six inch, poison-dripping fangs, retractable claws, and spikes," Anya assured the girl grimly.

Dawn made a face. "Ew," she said.

Xander frowned. "So we're off to slay… a reject from Monty Python and the Holy Grail?"

"Inspiration _for_, actually," Giles corrected him absently. "Buffy, you still have that rocket-launcher?" he called, going to find her.

***

"You know, it's amazing how many caves there are under Sunnydale," Willow noted as the small group picked its way single-file through an underground river, ridiculously armed with an array of weaponry spanning more than a thousand years of military technology. "I wonder if that's a natural phenomenon or…"

"Willow, there is _nothing_ natural about Sunnydale," Giles told her. "You should know that by now."

"He's right," Buffy agreed from the head of the column. "Sunnydale is big with the lack of the natural."

"We should rest here," Giles suggested as they came to an area where the cave widened enough to allow them to stand side by side instead of in a straight line.

"How far under the city are we?" Dawn asked, shining her flashlight upwards.

"Judging by our angle of descent and the fact that it's been easily five miles?" Giles sighed, leaning against a stalagmite. "At least a half mile. Probably more." 

"Okay, let's take ten minutes and then move out," Buffy said. "Can't be much farther now." 

"It isn't," Willow told her. "Can't you feel it?"

Giles nodded faintly. "She's close."

"I don't feel anything," Buffy began. "Should my Slayer's spidey senses be all over this?" 

"This isn't a vampire," Anya told her simply. "Not all demons give off that same vibe. Giles and Willow would be more able to feel it with the whole wicky-wacky-woo."

Nodding, Giles pulled off his glasses, trying to clean them but only managing to further smudge the lenses with his wet shirt.

"She's right," Willow agreed, nodding. "It's earth empathy. This thing is poisoning the earth and we can feel that." 

In fact, 'feel' was probably too mild a term for the sensation that the Premadiabla's proximity was causing in them. It was an almost maddening awareness of the thing: a tingle like millions of tiny insects crawling over every inch of skin, a suffocating sense of claustrophobia, a virtually irresistible desire to scream right along with the dying land, and a sense of foreboding like a half-buried memory or disaster.

Willow broke away from the group and moved to stand in front of Giles. "This is not going to go well," she whispered.

"I know." He nodded faintly, giving up on his glasses and putting them in his shirt pocket. "I don't know, Willow. For the first time since I became Buffy's Watcher I find myself seriously wondering if I'm going to walk out of this alive."

Willow sighed deeply. "I… I don't feel _that_ exactly, but I do feel like everything is about to change in a very big way, Giles."

"It is, Willow," he sighed. "This is the ultimate turning point for all of us. I feel that so strongly…"

"Hey, what you guys whispering about?" Buffy asked, joining them. "Anything you want to share with the class?"

Giles forced a smile. "No, Buffy."

"Hey, why don't I go see how the others are holding up?" Willow suggested, leaving the two alone.

"Everything okay, Giles?" Buffy asked quietly, looking up at him.

"Um…" He nodded. After a moment's silence, he smiled down at her, reaching down and smoothing her hair out of her face. "My, how you have grown," he murmured. "I remember when you were just a little girl instead of a grown woman…"

Buffy's eyes widened faintly. She shook her head. "Don't you _dare_ say goodbye to me, Giles," she whispered.

"I'd have had to say it eventually. May as well be now," he sighed, letting his fingers linger on her cheek. He absently stroked the skin there, not thinking.

"No, you _don't_ have to say goodbye," she whispered, shaking her head. "Giles, you're miserable in England. I may not be a mind-reader like Willow is with you, but I do know that much. You could _stay_," she urged.

"How are you supposed to become a responsible adult when--"

"I already _am_ that," she told him. "You said so yourself earlier. Giles, whatever you think you're proving by being in England…" She shook her head. "Hey, we've _always_ been honest with each other."

"With rare exceptions," he agreed quietly.

"Stay," Buffy whispered. "I _like_ having you around. Dawnie adores you. Willow and Xander love you; even _Anya_ loves you."

"And you?" he whispered, closing his eyes.

"What?" she asked, staring up at him with wide eyes. "Giles, what kind of question is that?"

"A stupid one," he told her, shaking his head. "Forget it." He turned and started towards the others. 

Buffy caught his hand and pulled him away from them and around a corner. "What is _wrong_ with you?" she hissed.

"Nothing, Buffy." He shook his head. "Nothing."

"You aren't _acting_ like there's nothing wrong. You've been down since you got back. What is going on with you?"

"This is _not_ the time for an impromptu therapy session, Buffy," he protested, shaking his head. "We have a Premadiabla to kill." He turned and started back towards the group only to be pulled back by Buffy.

"_Not_ if you are off your game, Giles!" she whispered harshly. "You _swear_ to me that you can do this."

"Buffy, I would never let any of you come to harm by walking into a battle that I did not think myself ready for," he assured her gently, cradling her face in his hands.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, nodding. "Fine. Let's go, then."

"Buffy," he began, catching her hand as she turned.

"Yeah?" she asked, turning to face him again.

"Good luck," he whispered quickly, bending and kissing her cheek.

She stared up at him with wide eyes for a moment before swallowing hard and nodding firmly. Ever the proper British gentleman, he had _never_ done anything like that before as far as she could remember. 

"You, too, Giles," she agreed, quickly kissing his cheek in return. She was surprised by how _right_ it felt. Grinning up at him, she nodded. "Let's go."

Aware that he was bright red, Giles just nodded, grateful for the darkness. "Yes, let's. The eyes are its weakest point," he reminded her quietly as they rejoined the group. "The underbelly is armored."

"Will, you say this thing is close?" Buffy asked.

Willow nodded. "Very." 

"Okay, Giles and I will take point," she announced. "Will, you next. Dawnie, rear guard." 

As they walked, Giles quietly repeated everything that he and Willow had learned in their trance. The others listened attentively, none really paying attention to much other than not slipping in the dark streambed. 

Willow and Giles stopped at the same time, both looking around in alarm. 

"Willow, get them back!" Giles shouted, wrapping his arms around Buffy's waist and hauling her away from the rest of the group as Willow shoved Xander and Anya back into Dawn.

All unsteady on their feet from the rapid movements, the earthquake knocked them all to the ground, moments before the ceiling collapsed.

***

"Xander!" Willow shouted, banging her flashlight against the wall until it flickered back to life.

"Here, he's here!" Anya announced, pulling him above the surface of the water. "Dawn?"

"I'm okay. I think I twisted my ankle, but I'm okay."

"Good, we're all okay," Willow said. "How's Xander?" she asked Anya.

"He's got a nasty bump on his head and he won't wake up…"

Willow turned and regarded the rockfall in front of them. There was no way that they were going to dig through that, and using magic to displace the rocks would have put Giles and Buffy, _hopefully_ on the other side, in the line of fire. 

"Get him out of here," Willow ordered Anya, resting her hands against the rocks and closing her eyes.

"But…" Dawn began.

"**_Go!_**" Willow ordered.

"Dawnie, help me," Anya ordered, slipping her arm under Xander's shoulder. 

Dawn nodded and helped Anya get Xander upright.

As they left, Willow took a deep breath.

__

Giles? she asked mentally. _Can you hear me?_

Willow, are you okay? Is everyone okay?

Xander's hurt. Anya and Dawn are getting him out. How's Buffy?

She's fine. We're both fine.

Great. I'll try to get to you.

No, Willow. I think we were meant to do this alone. There was a pause. _Willow, you are… a fine woman. It's been my honor to know you._

Don't do that. Just get the demon.

We will. And you take care of Xander.

Willow nodded and turned to catch up with Anya and Dawn.

***

"Giles?" Buffy asked nervously. He was standing with his hands against the rock-slide, his eyes glazed, not responding to her attempts to get his attention. 

He looked up abruptly, smiling down at her. "They're all fine, Buffy. Xander's a little hurt, but they're getting him to the hospital now."

"Okay. Let's go slay the demon."

He nodded and turned away from the rockfall, inhaling deeply. "We're close now."

"Okay." Buffy nodded. "Weapons?"

"Crossbow, rocket launcher, battle-axe, and a sword. The others had the rest."

"Going to have to be enough. Let's go."

Giles nodded and followed her through the corridor. Another tremor rocked the cave, but the walls and ceiling remained stable so they ignored it. After less than five minutes, they emerged into a vaulted chamber. In the center was a bubbling black pool, feeding the stream they had walked through, and something was stirring inside. 

"Gross," she whispered.

Giles nodded in agreement and raised the rocket-launcher to his shoulder as Buffy loaded the cross-bow. "Ready?"

"We can kill this thing while it's still asleep?"

He nodded. "It would be best if we could…"

"The best-laid plans of mice and men seldom stand a chance in the face of reality," a feminine voice purred. 

Buffy dropped into a defensive crouch, watching the pool for movement. Giles dropped the rocket-launcher and went flying into the wall, bones shattering.

"Ah!"

"Giles!" Buffy shouted, rushing to his side.

"And he brings me a Slayer… They taste soooooo sweet."

"You're going _down_, bitch," Buffy snarled. 

"How many generations have your ancestors been killing my descendants, Killer?"

"What is it with bad guys and _talking_?" Buffy demanded. "Why don't you just show yourself and we'll settle this like the reasonable Slayer and hell-spawn that we are?"

"Mmm, I like that plan, Killer." 

The form emerged from the pool, roughly humanoid except for the white pelt, ears that reached to her waist, six inch fangs, long claws, and twitching nose. It was only reminiscent of a rabbit in how _un_rabbitlike it appeared.

"I smell your fear, Killer," she announced, inhaling deeply. "It smells _sweet_…"

"And _again_ with the talking too much," Buffy spat, firing her crossbow.

The Premadiabla howled as the bolt took her in the left eye, dropping on to all four. Snarling, she sprung at Buffy. 

Dropping the crossbow, Buffy drew her sword as she spun out of the way.

Groaning, Giles drug himself away from the wall, ignoring the spreading pain and threatening oblivion. As Buffy feinted and parried the demoness' attacks, he retrieved the crossbow and loaded it again with shaking hands. If he could just get a clear shot at her other eye… With Buffy fighting the creature, though, there was too much of a risk of hitting her. Except that, in spite of her valiant efforts, she was clearly losing. 

So it was risk her life or risk the end of the world.

The decision that he had been called on to make during his trance sprang immediately to mind and his path was clear. As dearly as he loved her, as much as he would have liked to spare her from any pain, any hardship… but there were more important things. 

He closed his eyes and fired.

"_Buffy_," he breathed on the wings of a prayer. 

"Giles!" she shouted.

He reluctantly opened his eyes. And was gifted with a vision of the most lovely creature he had ever known and ever would know.

"Buffy…" He smiled and reached up, caressing her face. "Oh, you are so beautiful. Even more lovely than usual."

"Yeah, and _you_ are a mess. We need to get you to a hospital."

"Come here," he whispered, spreading his arms wide.

Buffy nodded and wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek against his chest. "How do we get out?"

"Have faith," he murmured. "Close your eyes."

Buffy nodded and closed her eyes.

__

Willow, Giles called mentally. _I need your help._

You got it, Giles, Willow replied, relief obvious in her mental tone.

When Buffy opened her eyes, they were laying on the ground outside of the emergency room.

"Giles?" she asked.

He smiled up at her. "I've been thinking about what you said…"

"Really?" she asked, waving her arms to get the attention of a passing doctor.

"Mmm." He nodded weakly. 

"Guys!" Dawn called, limping out with support from Willow.

"Dawnie!" Buffy gave her a hug. "How is everyone?"

"They're fine," Willow answered. "Xander was the worst hurt, but he's resting comfortably now. Anya's with him."

"Great. Dawnie?"

"Sprained ankle." She shrugged. "It's nothing."

"Okay." Buffy nodded as they followed Giles into the ER.

Almost two hours later they were finally allowed to see him. Buffy went in first, alone.

"What were you thinking about?" she asked quietly, taking his hand and brushing his hair out of his face.

He smiled weakly up at her. "Just hoping you'd let me sleep on your couch until I can find a place in town."

****

The End


End file.
